Hella Potter and the Reincarnated OC
by Cambrian Beckett
Summary: In which an OC reincarnated into the Wizarding World finds a few significant changes from canon. Least of all is Hella Potter replacing Harry Potter as the Girl-Who-Lived and the Savior of the Wizarding World. (Rated M for a reason! Sexual themes abound!)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: A new story. As the title suggests, this is an Original Character story, NOT a Self-Insert. It won't be like some of my other stories, given that someone else is dictating the plot and I'm just writing it. You can also find more of this story on Questionable Questing dot com and H*ntai-Foundry dot com if you want to read more!**

 **Hope everyone enjoys!**

 **-x-X-x-**

"I believe you."

The moment the words leave his lips, he wonders if they're the wrong ones. The look on Hella Potter's face as she whips her head around to stare at him is… heartbreaking, to say the least. His name is Treowe Morton, and he was a Sixth Year Slytherin. That alone should have precluded him from being allowed to speak with Gryffindor's Golden Girl, but at the end of the day, not a single one of her House still with her any longer, leaving them all alone in the corridor Treowe had chosen to confront Hella in.

Heh, Hella. It was still a little strange, that. After all, he was from a world where this entire fantastical existence was nothing but fiction. As far as he could tell, he'd been reincarnated into the Harry Potter Universe upon death, leaving him to grow up all over again, except this time he grew up in a family of purebloods, as the Scion and Heir of House Morton. They were nothing too special, known mostly for their Bicorn herds and their modest estate.

Potion Ingredients derived from parts of the Bicorn were needed enough that they were able to make a pretty good living off of raising and selling the creatures. Or more accurately, off of having others raise and butcher the creatures for them. As a Noble Family, the only time a Morton ever stooped to dirty their hands with Bicorn blood was on their fourteenth birthday, and that was only for the males. It was a coming of age ceremony, where their father or closest male relative walked them through harvesting one of the creatures.

Treowe assumed it was meant to teach them something about where House Morton had come from, their humble beginnings as farmers with barely anything to their name not so distant that they were completely disconnected from the work that had made them what they are. Heh, only mostly disconnected.

Regardless, he was allowing himself to get sidetracked, and in the midst of a breakdown, right before his eyes. Hella's gaze had fallen upon him as she processed his words, and then her own eyes had widened as she recognized him. Treowe wasn't too surprised by that. They hadn't known each other that well before this year, what with him being Slytherin and her being… well, the Girl-Who Lived.

But this was the Fourth Year, and regardless of the fact that there was no 'Harry Potter', the 'Harry Potter Universe' continued to hit the stations of canon like clockwork. Treowe had observed them from the outside looking in so far. He'd arrived at Hogwarts two years before Potter did, and then watched her and the others as they in turn arrived. So young, so… naïve and innocent.

The end of First Year put an end to Hella Potter's innocence when she was forced to kill Professor Quirrel in Self-Defense. Second year saw her murdering the Basilisk, just as her male counterpart did in the fiction Treowe remembered. Third year saw her faith in the system die as she found out about her godfather and the injustice done to him.

But now it was Fourth Year. Now it was time for the Triwizard Tournament, time for Hella to be entered against her will, and for all of her friends to abandon her. Hermione hadn't of course, not totally, but faced with the Gryffindor House turning its back on her, Hermione just wasn't enough. Treowe, meanwhile, had finally decided to step in the shitshow that Hella's misadventures. He'd spent his entire life working on being the most capable, most knowledgeable wizard he could be.

As far as he could tell, the Reincarnated American wasn't some massive magical talent like say, Dumbledore or Voldemort, or perhaps Hella herself. Magical cores were bullocks made up by fanfiction writers anyways, but there was definitely something about those two wizards that made it seem like magic favored them.

It didn't favor Treowe, but it also didn't seem to hate him. So, he'd made the most of what he had and spent every single moment of every single day these past sixteen years working towards being as capable of protecting himself and those he cared about as he could be. In the end, he liked to think he did a pretty good job of it. Of course, having the Goblet of Fire spit out HIS name for Hogwarts Champion rather than Cedric Diggory's had been an excellent way of confirming just how far he'd come.

One might think that having the actual Hogwarts Champion be a Slytherin would have seen the Gryffindor House rallying behind Hella, rather than turning on her as they had in canon. That was not the case, as far as Treowe could tell. While none of the Gryffindors were about to cheer him on, it seemed that they still weren't willing to believe Hella hadn't put her own name in the cup. They were all convinced that she'd managed to find a work-around, and angry that A) she'd kept it from them and B) she continued to keep it them.

It didn't matter that such a work-around didn't exist. No, Gryffindors were as small-minded as the grass was green or the sky blue. Regardless, Hella had recognized him because she'd seen him in that room that night, when she'd been pushed inside and announced as the Fourth Champion. He'd watched from afar, not speaking, not saying a word, even as Fleur and Viktor both spoke out against the idea of 'a little slip of a girl' competing with them.

Now though, now he could say something. Now that they were alone, away from prying ears, Treowe spoke up. And it seemed he might not have said the right thing at all.

Three little words. In three words, Treowe Morton had managed to accomplish what Malfoy and Snape had been trying and failing to do for the past few years. He'd broken Hella Potter. She all but collapses forward into his robes, her sobs and wails muffled by the high-quality fabric, but he could most definitely feel the trembling of her body as he wrapped his arms around her.

With the practiced ease that came from having six sisters (none of which would ever or had ever attended Hogwarts, on his recommendation) Treowe gets to work on calming down the 'Savior of the Wizarding World'. Rubbing circles into the small girl's back with one hand, Treowe strokes the other through her tangled mess of… blinking, the young wizard looks down to confirm what his hand was currently feeling.

In the midst of her utter despair, the untamable mess that was Hella Potter's hair had gone utterly limp and turned completely straight. Letting out a quiet, derisive snort, Treowe mentally checks off the box for Potter being a Metamorphmagus, wondering just how many more fanfic clichés he would end up encountering now that he'd placed himself in the 'main plot'.

Regardless, Treowe couldn't find it in himself to be surprised at the confirmation of what he'd long suspected. Her mental trauma when compared to the male version of Hella Potter was obviously far worse and far more acute at that. Being a girl had undoubtedly done her no favors, especially since she didn't even truly look like her mother. While she had the bright green eyes that Lily and Harry had both had, she was closer to a female version of Harry Potter and James Potter than what Treowe remembered of some of the 'Fem!Harry' fanfics he'd read back in the day.

That had undoubtedly earned her no favors with her aunt, and the likelihood of her uncle and her cousin doing things to her as she grew up that a man would be more likely to do to a woman than another man was… high. Higher than Treowe liked to truly think about. Even just the verbal abuse was probably more weighted and heavier on Hella's soul then anything Harry had had to handle.

Fuck. He was going to have to actually step in, wasn't he? The longer he held the still-crying witch to his chest, the longer he contemplated all she had been through and all that had probably happened to her when he wasn't even around to witness it… Treowe realized he was going to have to save this girl. He'd never been a particularly mean person to begin with. He had ambitions and plans, sure, and that had put him in Slytherin… but growing up surrounded by sisters hadn't led to a complex, it'd simply led to him being more compassionate.

And to think, everything had been going so well with his new life. He'd done his damnedest to avoid being drawn into the plot of the books. But no, he just had to give it a try. He just had to see if he was the worthiest student at Hogwarts, didn't he? And now the Goblet of Fire had spit out his name and Treowe's original plan of sandbagging the tasks so that he didn't end up getting Cedric Diggory'd at the end of the year was becoming more and more moot.

Perhaps whatever had brought him to this universe had gotten tired of him sitting on the sidelines, quietly learning more and more about magic. It was dragging his ass directly into the currents of destiny now, and there was nothing Treowe could do but go along with it. With a grunt, the young man reaches down and scoops up Hella Potter, just like that.

The smaller witch lets out a quiet eep, but rather than wiggle free as he shifts her into a bridal carry, she simply wraps her arms around his neck and then buries her face in the crook of it. She was far too light… or perhaps he was just too strong. It was actually quite easy to find the time in the day to get a workout in here at Hogwarts. Likely the only reason anyone at this school remained fat was that every meal was a damn feast made up of the heaviest foods known to man. Because just getting around to all of their classes beat the shit out of a Stairmaster alone.

As he held Hella Potter's too-small body close and began to carry her along, he spoke up, knowing from his experiences with his sisters that she'd likely appreciate him breaking the silence.

"Heiress Potter… Samhain really isn't a good day of the year for you, now is it?"

Her grip on him tightens, and she shakes her head into his shoulder, even as her sobs lighten up a bit, her focus turning towards hearing him speak rather than her own current, overwhelming issues.

"First you lost your parents to the Dark Lord…"

Bah, Grindelwald had been a true Dark Lord. Tom Riddle was a terrorist at best, a middling cult leader at worst. Still, he certainly had magic in spades, for all the good it did him when combined with the serious lack of brains. Treowe wonders briefly if the popular fan theory of Voldemort losing his ability to think rationally because of him splitting his soul so many times was right or not. Then he shakes his head, returning to the one-sided conversation at hand.

"Then, your first year here, you end up facing a Troll of all things. Safest place in all of Magical Britain my arse."

Hella shakes in his arms a little. Is she laughing, perhaps? Or more likely, she's laughing and crying at the same time. Treowe smiles slightly, even as he considers his own current big dilemma. Where was he going? He couldn't take her to the Slytherin dorms for incredibly obvious reasons. Nor was he going to take her to the Gryffindor dorms. Not only was he not intending on leaving her in her current state, he wouldn't likely get a word out before he was hexed for the mere crime of touching a crying Gryffindor, much less the Girl-Who-Lived, despite everyone in that House currently shunning her.

In the end, there was no choice but to use the Room of Requirement, so with that decided, Treowe started making his way up to the Seventh Floor, taking the long way around to avoid running into people.

"You took that Troll down, Heiress Potter. That was the first time I knew the stories weren't all completely shit. You might not have had all those crazy adventures they made up about you while you were growing up, but you do have the heart of a lion beating within your breast, now don't you?"

He's speaking conversationally, but Treowe would have to be a fool not to feel her reactions, given he's currently holding her quite close to him. She's hanging off his every word, even as he pauses for a moment, watching the staircase before him shift about until its connected to the landing he wants to go to. Most puzzle video games weren't as complicated as Hogwarts had fucking turned out to be.

"… Then came second year, and the Heir of Slytherin. Obviously, it was never you. People can be so… small-minded. Especially in large groups. Still, being able to speak parseltongue is nothing to be ashamed of. It might have garnered a bad reputation here in the United Kingdom, but it is greatly valued in places such as Egypt, India, Africa, and elsewhere around the world. You could probably make a lucrative and exciting career out of nothing but translating what magical serpents across the globe are saying, given how rare the ability is."

By the time he's done speaking, Hella isn't hiding her face in his shoulder anymore. Instead, teary emerald eyes are staring up at him in honest curiosity and even a small amount of wonder. Treowe smiles down at her, even as he continues his journey to the Seventh Floor.

"It's no mark against you that you don't know about all of this. You would need to order books from outside of Britain to find any of this sort of stuff out. I can lend you a few later, so long as you promise not to let Granger set her eyes on any of them. She'd likely get them confiscated, like I heard she did with your broom last year."

Treowe lets out a sigh, even as Hella's eyes spark and harden at the reminder.

"Last year… last year was the Dementors. Let's not even get into that mess. No, let's talk about this stupid tournament instead."

"… Stupid?"

For the first time, Hella speaks up, her voice quiet but very notably surprised. Treowe grins down at her at that.

"Very stupid. Don't think I don't know that, and don't let anyone else try to convince you otherwise. The Triwizard Tournament was discontinued for a reason, Heiress Potter, and the fact that its been brought back without even a single attempt at revamping the rules and working more safeguards into the entire thing is a travesty of the highest order. Oh, but wizards do seem to love to look back on the past with rose-colored goggles several inches thick, don't they?"

He'd finally reached the painting of Barnabas the Barmy. As Hella considers and processes his words, Treowe paces back and forth before it, all while focusing his hardest on what he would need for the night to take care of the small slip of a girl in his arms. A bed, certainly. A bath as well. Clothes and various hygiene products were also a must. Anything else, Treowe knew he could call upon the House Elves for. He had an entire stable of elf names that he used whenever he needed their assistance, never making sure to call on the same one too many times in a row.

He had a great relationship with the House Elves of Hogwarts, a relationship he'd used his prior knowledge of this universe to forge and strengthen starting all the way back in his first year. That didn't mean he wanted the Professors or god forbid the Headmaster to catch onto how often he used Hogwarts' house elves for his personal issues though. He might just get banned from doing so. Or more likely, the House Elves would be ordered not to respond to his calls anymore.

The door to the Room of Requirement has appeared, and Treowe feels Hella stiffen in his arms as he reaches out and opens it, pushing his way inside. Whatever she might have said about the door not being there before catches in her throat when she sees the beautiful interior of the room. Even Treowe is impressed by what his imagination has wrought and left to wonder if perhaps the Room of Requirement had some sort of mind of its own that was inclined to spruce things up a bit.

Regardless, he doesn't let his own surprise give him pause like Hella does with hers. Instead, he makes a beeline towards the extravagantly large bed that takes up the center of the room, laying her down there and beginning to undress her. There's not an ounce of resistance in the small girl as he comments idly.

"You know, before you started coming here, it was rather nice and quiet. The worst that happened was the Weasley Twins' latest experiments, or particularly vicious Quidditch Matches between Slytherin and Gryffindor."

Treowe chuckles lightly at that, shaking his head as he continues.

"But every single year since you've arrived, its been one thing after another. Something you need to learn now is this; once is happenstance, twice is coincidence… but three times is enemy action. Someone is trying to kill you, Heiress Potter, and they've thrown all subtlety out the window with this latest attempt on your life. Why anyone can think you would have willingly put your name in the Goblet… well, it just goes to show how STUPID most of Hogwarts' residents truly are. Thing is, I-."

Whatever else he might have been planning to say dies on the Slytherin Sixth Year's lips as he finally manages to get Hella's robes over her head. He, like every other growing young wizard in Hogwarts walls knew full well that the voluminous robes could do quite a lot to hide the voluptuous figures of witches. He also knew that Hella Potter would have a skinny and small frame, her height rather public regardless of her robes, and her skinniness no doubt having to do with not getting enough food growing up.

But what he hadn't expected was for her to have the most spectacular pair of tits he's seen in his entire life. They honestly weren't all that large… but on Hella's small frame, they looked rather comical. Treowe couldn't help but stare, even as his mind slowly worked out the reasons behind the strange contradiction. She must have been eating quite a lot of Hogwarts, her body trying to make up for the three months of the year that she couldn't depend on reliable meals.

It seemed that had resulted in a sizable bust, barely contained by a rather unflattering beige bra which dug into her tits and was clearly pinching them. Without even thinking, Treowe's hands pulls down Hella's skirt to reveal a matching set of panties. Still staring, Treowe's trance-like gaze is only finally broken by Hella herself blushing and attempting to cover herself after she'd decided he'd stared too long.

Treowe catches her wrists and pulls them away, shaking his head as he finally looks into her eyes.

"No, none of that. There's no reason to hide your beauty, Heiress Potter. Though these garments do you no favor."

Wide green eyes stare up at him, even as Treowe realizes this is another way in which a female Savior of the Wizarding World would suffer more than a male. He could only imagine where Hella got her undergarments from, certainly not a place that catered to her… unique needs. Still, his words have the intended effect, and Hella offers no resistance yet again as he pulls off her bra and panties, tossing the beige underwear to the floor and pulling his wand for the first time since he spoke up. With a flick, he incinerates the unflattering garments, before clearing his throat.

"Binky!"

The House Elf that appears is not a Hogwarts House Elf. No, for this, Treowe has just summoned one of his House's personal elves across a great distance. Still, Binky came immediately, like a good elf should.

"Yes, Master?"

"Take Heiress Potter's measurements and borrow some of my sisters' underwear from the cleaned laundry that hasn't been put back yet. Close as you can get, if you please."

Binky bobs his head, looks at Hella for a moment, and then pops away, just like that. Hella stares after him, even as Treowe chuckles.

"Six sisters… he'll find something in your size, I hope."

Her gaze turns back to Treowe, just as the Reincarnated American is sitting down beside the naked young woman. Hella seems hesitant, unsure… but also curious and intrigued. She doesn't actually seem that upset about him having stripped her down, which is quite the interesting reaction, in his opinion. It brings unsettling thoughts to mind about just how she'd been treated by the men in her life… all her life.

Pursing his lips together, Treowe doesn't reach out for her. Rather, he places a hand out, palm up and actually leans back from her.

"Heiress Potter. I don't pretend to know your life. I only have the smallest inkling of all the things you've been through. I did not bring you here to do anything you did not want to do. I have no desire to harm you, not when you've already suffered so much."

Treowe pauses, choosing his next words carefully.

"That said… consider this your choice to make, perhaps one of the first anyone has ever given you. If you wish it of me, I will gladly leave the room. You may make use of it for however long you want, no one will disturb you here. Binky will return with better-fitted underwear for you, and we may continue on as passing acquaintances from here on out."

Another pause, and then Treowe lays out his true desires.

"… However, if you will allow me to try, I will make this a Samhain you will never forget, Heiress Potter. Please, take my hand… or send me away."

There's a long moment of silence that passes between them. Hella seems to be staring at him almost searchingly, and though its difficult given how long he's kept his secrets, Treowe endeavors to keep his face as open and honest as possible so that she can see his intentions are true. In the end, something must have worked, because Hella reaches out and takes his hand, as he bade her.

Smiling, Treowe finally does lean in. The wizard kisses Hella gently but firmly, his lips pressing against hers even as his hands run down to her thighs and open her legs. She offers no resistance, but she's definitely more responsive then when he was stripping her naked. Though its tentative and hesitant, Hella kisses him back, seeming to quite enjoy it.

Eventually though, he moves on, sliding his lips down off of hers and across her cheek, over her chin, towards the hollow of her neck. Treowe works his way down Hella's body, gently pushing her until she's laying back on the bed as he ghosts his lips over her pale, blemish-free flesh. Eventually, he reaches the groomed slit betwixt her thighs, and his tongue finally slips out from between his lips to push against her entrance.

What follows is a lesson in pleasure for one Hella Potter, her gasps and her moans and her lilting mewling noises telling Treowe exactly what works for her and what doesn't. He plays her like an instrument, and she in turn responds to him beautifully, making the most exquisite music. His hands slide up under the young woman, and he gropes Hella's ass, all while eating her out.

It doesn't take long for her to cum. She squeals like she's never done so before, like it's the first orgasm she's ever experienced. Treowe honestly wouldn't be that surprised, though he does smirk a little when he pulls back and rises off the bed to get undressed as well, only to find Hella looking half-ready to pass out on the spot.

"Don't give up on me now darling… we're just getting started."

That brings her back into focus, and she stares at him with wide eyes, even as he pulls his boxers down, revealing a large cock and a nice set of churning balls. Good genes and a magical potion regime from his first day of puberty had done him well, that was for sure. As he climbs back onto the bed, now just as naked as her, Treowe is surprised when Hella reaches out, getting on her hands and knees and trying to return the favor.

She takes his cock in her hands and places the head of it in her mouth. Her inexperience is obvious, but her desire to reciprocate the pleasure he gave her overcomes that as she bobs up and down on his cock. In short order, Treowe is groaning, his fingers lacing through Hella's hair as he tilts his head back and simply enjoys the blowjob for what it is.

It's not long before he cums, filling her mouth with his seed. His first release is too much for her of course, overwhelming her a fair bit and leaving her with his spunk trailing down her chin and onto her breasts as she coughs and pulls back. But after a moment of recovery, Treowe watches as Hella Potter scoops up his seed and slurps it down, seemingly unable to get enough of it.

Rather than get discouraged by her partial failure, Hella suddenly grows demanding, and Treowe just as suddenly finds himself on his back, with her on top of him, seeming to instinctively know exactly what she wants as she rubs her cunt lips against the underside of his cock, which is now standing up straight before her. She takes hold of his cock and seems almost fascinated by it, by the heat coming off of it, by the sheer size of him.

Treowe in turn grabs Hella by the hips and slowly lifts her up, making his intentions to have her clear. However, he pauses when a wind begins to blow in a room that has no windows. He stops with his cockhead just slightly nestled inside of Hella's pussy lips when a heavy presence seems to fill the air around them. The words come to his lips without an ounce of prodding.

"… The Black Wind Howls, Heiress Potter…"

The Room of Requirement certainly does have a mind of its own, or there's something else controlling it right now, because the room changes in that instant from a place of opulence to a very clear ritual circle. Hella Potter's bright green eyes are positively glowing, and Treowe watches as she gazes off to the side, seeming to be listening to a voice only she can hear, seeing something only she can lay eyes on.

He's never put much stalk in the whole "Master of Death" thing himself, but he has always believed Harry Potter, and thus Hella Potter as well, to be favored or perhaps chosen by Death as its Champion. Given what had happened to her that Samhain night, given where her destiny would likely ultimately take her… Treowe's thought process cuts off as Hella abruptly begins to speak.

Not just speak though, the witch intones the following words, her voice reverberating through the room, and the ritual circle around them glowing bright with the magic of her words.

"I, Hella Lily Potter, demand of Magic this for the sacrifice of my virginity on Samhain Night! That I will be loved! That I will be free of those who would control me! That I will never again be fooled by those who do not truly care for me! So mote it be!"

And then she drops herself down on his cock, and Treowe grunts as Hella impales herself on his member, breaking right through her hymen and completing her end of the sacrifice. The wind whips into quite the frenzy, even as Hella herself falls forward, cupping Treowe's face in her hands and kissing him deeply. At the same time, something comes over the both of them. He can't even fully say what it is, only that he finds himself gripping Hella's hips quite harshly a moment later, his own hips thrusting up into her faster and faster and faster.

Not that the green-eyed witch is any less enthusiastic as she rides him harder than he could possibly have imagined her capable of. Her inner walls clench down and squeeze along Treowe's length, and he in turn fills her with his shaft over and over, pistoning upwards with all his might. Their bodies are as one, and he can feel it as Hella cums around his cock again and again and again.

Fucking Hella is like trying to hold onto a rocket in flight. But Treowe wouldn't take back a single one of his actions this night. It felt right, doing this. It felt completely and utterly RIGHT. Screw staying out of the main plot, screw trying to avoid getting drawn into things. Hella Potter needed him like no one else did, not even his sisters. He would have to be heartless to abandon her, so he simply wouldn't. At the same time, their tongues have long since intertwined and something passes between them that feels almost ethereal in nature as Treowe thinks all of this.

As he loses himself in the ritualistic fucking, the Reincarnated American's last coherent thought is one of amusement. Shitty cliched soul bonds better not be fucking real in this universe too.

 **-x-X-x-**

 **If you'd like to read more of my work not seen on this website, check out H entai-Foundry dot com and Questionable Questing dot com! I'm known as 'Cambrian' on those websites.**

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 **Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Chapter 2!

His eyes itched and for a moment, Treowe Morton rubbed at them to try and give them some relief. Then he remembered he was a wizard, and more than that, a learned wizard. A flick of his wand and a short murmur and the itchy irritation was gone completely, his eyeballs completely rejuvenated from pouring over the small printed lettering of the D&D book before him. With a sigh, Treowe slowly closes the book, revealing the title on its cover.

Draconomicon, Book of Dragons stares back at him as he looks down at it, running his fingers over the embossed lettering with a fond smile. Perhaps it was foolish. Perhaps it was silly… but he couldn't help but be happy that one of his favorite books from his past life existed here in this universe as well, where magic and actual dragons prowled about in the dark spaces of the mundane world.

He also couldn't help but be hopeful that there might be some truth to the small English to Draconic dictionary located at the back of the book, the one he'd been perusing for hours now, trying to find the right combination of words to string into a sentence. It was the basis for but one of many plans in his scheming to get the golden egg away from whichever dragon he ended up going up against. The hope was that there would ultimately be… minimal danger to himself. Perhaps that was a pipe dream though… just like this book was likely a pipe dream.

Still, Treowe had heard legends and myths in both worlds, mundane and magical, about intelligent, speaking dragons that could wield magic. While their magnificent species had been reduced to nothing but particularly large, dangerous cattle, their existences ultimately that of living magical ingredients, Treowe couldn't help but wonder if some instinctive memory of the language still remained. After all, Hella could speak to and understand the speech of both magical and non-magical snakes.

Perhaps it was too much to think that a D&D book written by, as far as he knew, mundane men, would have knowledge of such a language, even if the dragons he knew truly existed in this world COULD speak still. That was okay though. Treowe wasn't the kind of person to go into anything with just one plan. If diplomacy failed, or more likely, was straight impossible, he still had the rest of his hand left to play.

Unfortunately, pretty much all of them revolved around first incapacitating the dragon thoroughly before attempting to retrieve the egg. Adventuring one-o-one and all that… always make sure the dragon is gone, preferably permanently, before looting it's hoard. To be perfectly honest, Treowe really wasn't sure if the dragon was more dangerous because they were placing a clutch of her eggs with the prize, or more dangerous because they were placing shining gold with a clutch of her eggs. It probably depended on the type of dragon, at the end of the day.

The stress of the tournament was undoubtedly weighing down on him though. The knowledge of what should happen versus what could happen… how was he supposed to know when to change the events he remembered and when to let them fall as they were supposed to? More than that, how was he supposed to anticipate the changes that his mere existence, his mere presence seemed to incite.

For starters, most of the school didn't hate Hella Potter's guts like he thought he remembered from the first go around. He believed most still thought she cheated to get in, and those same people believed her to be lying even now about putting her name in… however, whether it was because of him or something else he was forgetting, most of Gryffindor had rallied around her. He assumed it was in an effort to see a Slytherin like himself 'put in his place' or something.

Meanwhile, Ravenclaw was on the fence, while Hufflepuff was split between supporting her for the same reasons Gryffindor was and booing her for cheating to get in in the first place. In the end, Treowe could only assume that changing the house of Hella's opponent had altered things from what he thought he remembered. It had been obvious over the years he'd spent at Hogwarts just what the enflamed House Rivalries had done to the student body.

And that of course was made all the word by the House Cup and the House Points System in general. Morons, all of them. The entire system was just another way to keep the students that grossly outnumbered the teachers in line and obedient. And honestly? Treowe didn't fully mind that. Not only was this a school, a place of learning where the large majority of the students DID need to learn how to keep their heads down and simply follow instructions… it was a magical school on top of that. The dangers that came with students who got too full of themselves, who delved too deeply into the wrong sorts of magic… well, without firm discipline, they'd probably have a new wannabe Dark Lord every other week, rather than as infrequently as it already was.

The problem was with how the system was implemented… and the fact that such implementation made the entire thing so utterly pointless, no pun intended. With how blatantly Professor Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore cheated the system in order to each get the outcomes they wanted, be it throughout the year as was his Head of House's wont, or end of the year as the Headmaster had seen fit to do ever since Hella arrived at Hogwarts, it'd simply gotten ridiculous in nature.

Even the student body as a whole was starting to catch onto that, ruining the entire system in the first place. If no one cared or respected the House Cup or House Points, it would all come crumbling down and Hogwarts would be just on the verge of anarchy. As Filch liked to say, Dumbledore had outlawed the more extreme forms of punishment, 'unfortunately'. That left just detentions, but if they had to resort to those for every single troublemaker, the professors themselves might just riot at being overworked… or, more likely, they'd let more and more bad behavior slide, in a school where bad behavior might escalate to grievous bodily harm or even death due to how dangerous magic could be.

Pushing himself up from the dining table, Treowe looks around the Room of Requirement and sighs. The Room truly was versatile, and even asking it for a dining table had brought one into existence with a pop. It couldn't do the same with true sustenance unfortunately but getting food from house elves was like taking water from a sink faucet.

The Room of Requirement had practically become a second home for he and his new… whatever Hella was to him, since that night weeks ago. There was so much to teach the powerful young witch, and not nearly enough time to do so. Once again, Treowe found himself pacing across the room as he considered the puzzle of Hella Potter's… ignorance again.

It really was a stressful topic, but luckily the Room of Requirement was good at providing some stress relief in the form of some very realistic mannequin targets, plucked right from his mind as it raced a mile a minute. Canon, Fanon, and HIS Reality were as much lining up together as they were fighting each other.

There were so many gaps in Hella's knowledge, and such a lack of what she should know. Treowe understood why of course, he knew her upbringing had left her without any knowledge of wizarding culture, of their manners and customs. She hadn't understood why he had called her Heiress Potter, she didn't even seem to understand what it meant to be a Potter. She had no idea of the wealth or responsibility she would likely inherit with her coming of age.

Unless this was one of the worlds where her father paupered the family in the fight against Voldemort. Or one of the worlds in which Dumbledore, as her magical guardian, simply stole from the coffers using his power and influence and his positions to fund certain things. Ah, but all that stunk of bad fanfiction. He didn't know what to believe, not anymore. It'd been a long time since he'd read the books even before he was reborn in this world. Not so long since he read Harry Potter fanfiction though…

Ultimately, what was real, what wasn't? He couldn't trust his own memories, could he? And yet… and yet he wanted to help Hella all the same. Fuck, the girl hadn't ever even seen her own family's Coat of Arms until he'd had a book brought from home by his house elf! It reeked of the manipulative mentor plot, which if he recalled correctly, was canon, even if Dumbledore ultimately was benign. He was also just an idiot with stupid plans.

The knowledge Hella DID have revolved mostly around spells she'd learned from Defense Against the Dark Arts. Made sense, really. While her first DADA Professor had been a stuttering fool with a specific reason for keeping her weak, and her second had been a bumbling idiot with a penchant for mind-wipe spells, her third year had been under a learned man like Remus Lupin, while her fourth year was currently under Moody… or as close as Moody as they would get until the end of this damn tournament.

There was the thought of revealing Crouch Jr. early. Would it thwart Voldemort's plans, or would he simply call more servants to him and demand they help in Bart's place? That was what stayed Treowe's hand. The fear of the unknown, it left him… a little stressed out, to be sure. Still, Hella knew spells that would help her fight and help her defend herself. She was very good with the Patronus as well.

On top of that, she had power to spare, and could pick up magic rather quickly once he walked her through each spell. It was… rather humbling to watch her overpower the spells she was just now learning, able to cast them with a greater strength than even he could after years of practice. Heh, damn protagonist powers…

A weapon rack appears beside him quite suddenly, causing Treowe to glance at it as his eyes slide over the usual castle armaments. Sword, mace, axe, polearm, bow… he then looks away as mannequin targets appear in a row, one by one. A second later, Treowe's wand is in his hand and the gaudy robe of the very realistic Dumbledore dummy is now on fire with barely a thought.

He vaguely recalled something about that from the Evil Overlord List he'd once read. Something about dressing in bright and cheerful colors to fool one's enemies. Did that mean Dumbledore truly was evil? Fuck if he knew. He didn't trust the old man as far as he could throw him though…

As the Dummy Dore burns up, Treowe takes up the bow and a quiver of arrows appears on his back as he draws one and takes aim at the next target. Malfoy's frozen face looks back at him, and the blonde ponce is dressed in Slytherin robes, which are in turn covered in those stupid buttons. Seems that more than a few people had discarded him, if the amount that have found their way to the Room of Requirement are any indication. They all currently show POTTER STINKS in glowing orange, every last one.

If, and it was a big if, if Malfoy had actually created these buttons by himself, it would easily be the most impressive thing he'd ever done in his years at Hogwarts. Treowe snorts derisively at the idea and lets his arrow fly as it skewers through a button right over Malfoy's heart, before sinking deeply into the mannequin itself.

Luckily, it hadn't taken much to get out of having to wear one himself, as well as once again reminding Malfoy of his inadequacies. Ever since Hella had spurned the Noble Scion's offer in the first year, there had been bad blood between the two of them. And when there was bad blood between two heirs to two noble houses, it was a little more serious then two school kids having a simply rivalry. Treowe knew that now, from his own upbringing.

Of course, that's not to say he thought she should have taken Malfoy's hand on that very first train ride and accepted his help. If she had, there was a very good chance the Malfoys as a whole would have their claws sunk into her by this point, and where Hella Potter would be by now, Treowe couldn't even begin to wonder. Regardless, it didn't change the fact that Malfoy felt slighted and wrong and Hella didn't even realize what she'd done.

If Draco had realized this to begin with, if he'd realized that Hella wasn't actually snubbing him as Heiress Potter, but simply an eleven-year-old girl skeeved out by his creepy, piss-poor attitude, he could have just pretended it never happened and saved quite a lot of face. Instead, he'd assumed the worst and reacted accordingly… by trying to damage the behemoth that was the Girl-Who-Lived's reputation, year after year in whatever way he could.

Problem was, year after year, Hella came out looking better than she did before. This year was the first where anyone other then the Slytherins truly hated her, and even that was just Malfoy seizing on an opportunity. Treowe had had to remind his fellow Slytherin of that when Malfoy walked up to him in the common room and tried to hand him one of the pins, before slyly showing him the special feature with a wide grin on his face.

In front of their entire house, Treowe had laid out Draco Malfoy's obsession with the Potter girl, he'd laid out the actions he knew Draco had taken each year to try and get Hella in trouble, only to either get in trouble with her, or fail entirely. He'd lambasted the Malfoy Scion before their entire house, and then he'd left off by telling Draco that until he came up with something more worthwhile then a pin with which to discredit the Potter Heiress, he should quit waiting Treowe's time.

… The Malfoy mannequin is a pincushion by now and Treowe's quiver is empty as he lets out an audible sigh. That last bit might have been a mistake on his part, if he's being honest. Telling Malfoy to up his game had the potential to backfire spectacularly. After all, in two years when Malfoy did up his game in canon, he got fucking Dumbledore killed and essentially helped to kickstart the Dark Lord's second rise.

But Treowe had a reputation of his own to uphold. While being named Hogwarts Champion gave him QUITE a lot of credit with his fellow Slytherins, he was well-aware that the fastest way to lose that credit was to be seen defending Hella Potter overly much. There would come a time when he'd have to decisively pick a side, and he had no doubts about who he would side with, but for now… House Slytherin was useful, and he would continue to wring them dry of their usefulness until he could do so no more.

Letting out another deep sigh, Treowe drops his bow to the ground as well as the empty quiver, reminded in an instant of some of the more… questionable lessons taught at Hogwarts. Specifically, the treatment of 'animals'. While Hagrid did his best, the culture that was promoted and thus permeated through the wizarding world's younger generation was a simple one. Normal animals existed for their amusement, while magical animals existed to be turned into magical ingredients. Muggles, as they called them here, were at beast treated as little more than clever animals.

Those were the sorts of ethics taught at Hogwarts, and they wondered why they continued to have so many problems years later. Why in the hell did they even need to learn a spell that turned a hedgehog into a pincushion? When would any of them ever have a hedgehog on hand to replace said missing pincushion. He couldn't help but hate any transfiguration class that involved turning a living creature into an inanimate object.

Rolling his shoulders, Treowe considers the last of the three mannequins that the room had summoned for him. Professor Snape, a man he'd visualized dying in a great many ways over the years. Some of which would be quite easy to pull off in a place like Hogwarts, though Treowe wasn't foolish enough to ignore the fact that Snape was an accomplished wizard.

He couldn't act on any of his plans, unfortunately, even the ones most likely to succeed. His father and himself were the only male members of the Morton Family left after the war, and after his Uncle Thomas had been gored and devoured by the Bicorn Herd for breaking the Pact. That was the reason his part of the family had been elevated to the Lordship in the first place. His Uncle, the late Lord Thomas Morton, had been left with no heirs save for Treowe's father.

There always had to be a Lord Morton, or the Bicorn herds would be lost. Luckily his father was a better man, a better father, and most important of all, a better husband than his uncle had ever been. But even still, if anything were to happen to the current Lord, Treowe had to be ready to take up the mantle at a moment's notice, meaning he couldn't risk his life or his freedom for anything like a bit of premeditated murder.

So, for now the Death Eater bastard remained alive. For now, he was allowed to continue his yearly torment of three-fourths of the student body, and his consistent degradation of the wizarding world's younger generations. Why no one had noticed that Snape had done more damage to the last two generations of wizards and witches by just being his loathsome self then even Voldemort had managed in his short reign was... well, no. It wasn't beyond Treowe. In fact, he had a pretty good idea of why no one noticed. Dumbledore.

Gritting his teeth, Treowe picks up the axe from the weapon's rack and tests its weight for a moment before hurling it end over end towards its target. A burst of satisfaction fills him as the bladed head of the weapon buries itself in the mannequin's chest and topples it over onto it's back. He felt… better now. But then, physical action, even if it was a simulation, always did help him relieve stress.

With but a thought to the Room, the weapon's rack and destroyed mannequins disappear, and Treowe settles down at the table once more, ready to return to studying for the First Task. It wasn't long now, after all… soon, within days, he would be fighting a dragon… no pressure.

-x-X-x-

When Hella finally walked into the Room of Requirement, Treowe was in the middle of reading the latest story in the day's Daily Prophet. It wasn't the first time he'd seen it, but earlier at the feast he'd had to hide his big, shit-eating grin at the sight of Rita Skeeter finally being reported missing within the very rag she'd written so many libelous pieces for. Her coworkers were having a field day suggesting unfortunate fates that the intrepid reporter might have suffered.

… She really should have quick while she was behind. After he'd taken her Quick-Quotes Quill and incinerated it at the Wand-Weighing Ceremony, after he'd pointed out the multitude of hit pieces she'd written on a multitude of different wizards and witches with promising careers in front of them, he'd started a chain of 'No Comment' from every Champion in the room.

Obviously, Rita hadn't liked that much. But you'd think given her years as an animagus, she'd have known better than to hide her large beetle form in a witch's robes… no matter how famous and juicy a prospect that witch is. Unlike Hermione, Hella hadn't known what she was doing. Rather than being caught in a jar for the better part of a year, Rita… well, they would certainly never find the body.

And Treowe… Treowe would never tell Hella that she'd killed the detestable woman. The Potter Heiress didn't need that weighing on her. He could carry it with him instead. Tossing the Daily Prophet down on the table and stretching, Treowe yawns as Hella walks in. Only a loud bang alerts him to her current… mood.

A glance over shows Hella is pacing back and forth, her hair alive in its movement, reminding him of a cat all ruffled and fluffed up, both in irritation and warning. Treowe remains still upon seeing this, very still indeed while he watched the Potter Scion mutter mundane curses under her breath, gripping her wand with a furiously shaking hand. The hairs on the back of his neck are raised, and he can practically taste the palpable rage coming off of her. He CAN taste the magic. One of the more obvious changes after the Samhain ritual in which they'd sacrificed her virginity.

A mannequin suddenly appears, only to get blasted across the Room of Requirement as quickly as it shows up, breaking into parts as it impacts the wall, shredded particularly violently by Hella's screamed Reducto. The next one to appear a moment later bursts into flames and melts down as she shrieks out the Blasting Charm. The one after that is sent into the opposite wall again with a geyser strength casting of Aguamenti, the surge stripping away any details of the target.

Several more mannequins are summoned and summarily dispatched in inventive ways before he finally gets a glimpse at the target of Hella's wrath. A severed head bounces across the room before rolling to a stop by his feet. Treowe stares down into the snide, frozen features of one Ronald Weasley. The word 'Parasite' immediately comes to mind from an old game he'd once placed in another life, another world.

A Man Builds. A Parasite asks, 'where's my share?'. All of his brothers before him had come up with goals early on in their lives and then strived towards them with purpose that had seen those goals mostly achieved. Curse-Breaker, Dragon Handler, Ministry Stooge… even the twins had their jokes and their pranks, and advance knowledge told Treowe they would turn that into a profitable business venture one way or another, even without Hella's gold. It would just take them longer.

But Ronald Weasley… perhaps it was just his bias. Perhaps he wasn't giving the boy a fair shake. It didn't change how he felt though. Ron Weasley had always come across as a parasite to him. Both from his memories and from what he'd seen these past few years from afar. The ginger boy seemed utterly content to ride on Hella's coattails and stuff his face in the Great Hall.

As Hella exhausts herself in the moment, having rendered her voice hoarse with both shrieked spells and unintelligible screams, Treowe finally rises from his seat and slowly approaches her, making sure that she seems her coming before he finally closes the distance and carefully plucks her wand from her still-shaking hands.

Hella's face is flushed with both rage and embarrassment, and there are streams of tears running down her cheeks. With a sigh, Treowe pulls the shaking Potter Heiress into a hug, her rage clearly spent as she loudly and openly sobs into his clothes. Too many years of holding it in, as far as he could tell. Too many years of having to put on a brave face, of never letting the emotions inside of her break free. It seemed to be catching up with her now that she had a safe space in the form of him and this room. It all seemed to be catching up with her.

"H-He… HE KNEW, Treowe! They ALL knew!"

She wails that after a moment, and Treowe frowns, even as he runs a hand through her hair, watching it slowly become less frazzled and less puffy, returning to a straight and smooth state, the way he preferred it. It was a bad sign that the only time she literally and figuratively let her hair down was around him, but at least she could now DO so after a little practice. While he had a good idea of the cause to her distress, Treowe asks anyways.

"Who? What happened, Hella?"

"Weasley!"

Her voice is a hiss with such venom, such vitriol that Treowe would have thought she was talking about Malfoy if his hearing were worse.

"You were right! He knew… he knew about the dragons! C-Cause he had to, you see? His brother, Charlie is here in the Forbidden Forest, taking care of them! And he didn't tell me! He didn't tell me at all! None of those damn gingers did! I had to hear it f-from you, a-and then from H-Hagrid!"

Treowe presses his lips together as he strokes Hella's locks and considers her words. Obviously, he knew that Hagrid's warning had actually come from Ron. But it didn't absolve the boy of his true nature, not in Treowe's eyes. So, he remains quiet, even as Hella goes on to curse Ronald and the rest of the Weasleys, after all they'd been through together.

He listens as she recounts their adventures, as she tells him all she'd done, all they'd done together, only to be betrayed now. And he revels, silently and inwardly of course, in the knowledge that he'd started this schism. It was for the best, in his mind. The Weasley Family had plenty of good eggs, sure. But with everything so close to what he thought he knew but at the same time completely out of whack, Treowe wasn't sure what to believe about anyone anymore.

The young man could only trust himself with Hella… which meant to help her, he had to cut the ties that bound her to those he wasn't sure were using her or not. The funny thing was, he hadn't even needed to fabricate a reason for his past knowledge, as he'd found out about the dragons on his own, quite legitimately.

He'd first spotted the Dragon Handlers while feeding the Thestral herd on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Thank you, Uncle Thomas for THAT ability. Watching your uncle get gored and devoured wasn't something Treowe would wish on anyone, but the memory DID have its uses, and there was something to be said about the magical death horses and keeping a good relationship with THEM as well.

Regardless, that wasn't even all of it! The House Elves in the Hogwarts Kitchens, where he tended to take every meal that wasn't a mandatory attendance in the Great Hall, had taken quite a liking to him. So yes, they'd told him all about the Dragons they were tasked with transporting food to each night… because no one in charge had thought to tell them not to.

And then of course, there was his Head of House, who'd volunteered him for a joint-mission into the Forbidden Forest to gather potion ingredients. Despite his hatred for Snape, Treowe was well-versed in deception by the time he arrived at Hogwarts. He knew not to let his true feelings show. As a matter of course, he and his Head of House had a shockingly good relationship, at least on the outside. Whether Snape actually liked him or just saw him as a tool to be used, Treowe didn't know or care… the greasy Professor would never be HIS friend… and would likely ALWAYS be his enemy.

That said, Snape led him into the Forbidden Forest, and after a bit of a roundabout, they'd arrived at where they were keeping the dragons, with Snape barely even trying to keep his satisfaction at revealing the first task to Treowe hidden behind his apologetic words, even as he swore his student to secrecy. Of course, Treowe had immediately gone and told Hella. Snape probably hadn't expected that, or he would have used an ACTUAL magical oath to keep Treowe's silence.

In the end, Treowe had a plan for breaking Hella away from the influence of the Weasley Family… permanently. This was but the first step of that plan, with intentions to convince her that Ron and Ron alone was to blame for keeping her so ignorant. Later though. Later. Now was when he needed to be there for Hella, now was when she needed him most.

"F-Fuck me…"

At first, he assumes that now would be a bad time to joke about that being an offer. But then he looks down and realizes Hella is staring up at him as she presses and rubs her sizable bust into his chest, her eyes swirling with hurt and lust and desire, biting her lower lip needily.

"M-Make… make me forget that my first friend in this world was willing to send me up against a C-Class Five Magical C-Creature without even o-offering me a warning solely because h-he's a JEALOUS GIT!"

Perhaps if he was a better person, he wouldn't take advantage of Hella in this vulnerable moment. But despite his burgeoning love for her, Treowe is still just a growing young wizard… and his erection pressing against her body tells Hella all she needs to know on what his subconscious thinks of the idea. Now giving the frozen young man a sultry sort of grin, or at least an attempt at one, Hella further entices him by pulling away just enough to take off her panties, a dark green pair that had come via his sisters.

She holds them up, showing off her wetness for a moment, her eyes still full of need and arousal and desire as she then steps away from him entirely. The bench is pushed away from the dining table a moment later, and her panties are left bunched in one hand as Hella bends herself over said table, reaching back and simply hiking up her skirt to show off her now-bare bottom as she wiggles it back towards him.

"D-Do it, you Slytherin B-Brute… fuck me! Curl my toes and make me see stars! Make me forget all about this shitty-ass d-day!"

In the face of such primal need, Treowe wasn't about to say no. Especially not with how plump Hella's behind was starting to grow, a proper potion regimen doing wonders. His cock is out of his robes and his pants in moments, and he walks up behind the bent over witch, grabbing hold of her hips without pause and simply thrusting into her.

Hella lets out a loud moan in the face of her penetration, and her hands come back around to her front to claw at the glossy surface of their dining table. At the same time, her insides clench and squeeze along his cock, tightening all around his member as if to try and hold him in place. Of course, that's not about to happen. A determined look on his face, Treowe begins to give Hella exactly what she's asked for… a nice, harsh pounding.

"Yes! Just like that Treowe, just like that! F-fuck!"

He responds with nothing but grunts, even as he stares down at where their bodies are joined together with a single-minded focus. His cock buries itself inside of her cunt again and again and again, and its not long before every last inch of his massive meat rod is fully hilted within her, each thrust leaving her pale booty to jiggle with the force of his crotch smacking up against it.

The Room of Requirement is filled with the noises of intense, rough, primal sex as Treowe fucks the bent over witch with all his might, plowing a fellow noble scion from behind like she's nothing but a cheap whore. It's exactly what Hella seems to need, given how she begs for more… and how quickly she reaches her first climax.

"YEEEEESSS!"

Hella's head tilts up towards the ceiling and she screams out her pleasure quite loudly, even as Treowe pauses for a moment, feeling the way her insides grip at him all the more harshly, enjoying the ease with which he can make her cum. Grinning slightly, Treowe rears back a hand and smacks one side of her booty with a palm, drawing a throaty moan from Hella as she hangs her head once more, focusing on pushing her hips back towards his pistoning prick, even as her legs tremble.

"M-More… more, you bastard! Fucking give it to me!"

She all but snarls out the order, and Treowe isn't intending to disappoint. Reaching out, he grabs a fistful of Hella's animated hair, feeling her locks lash around his hand and even up his arm a bit as he pulls back. She gasps as her back arches and her insides squeeze down around his cock tightly once again. With that grip secure, Treowe once more begins to thrust, fucking Hella Potter from behind with even greater force than before, using his hold on her hair to drag her head back even as he pushes his entire length forward into her tight, sopping wet cunt.

Her throaty cries fill the room as she cums again and again around his cock. Her eyes roll around in her head, and her words become all but unintelligible, turning to moans and mewls and shrieks of pleasure as he draws all sorts of interesting noises from her. No one will hear them. No one will come looking for the source of the sounds coming from the Room of Requirement. One of the 'requirements' that Treowe always makes sure to think on as he creates the room before each time that they use it is soundproofing.

Its just the two of them, and no one else… and it's clear that Hella knows this, or she just doesn't care, because she's REALLY letting loose right now. Her fingers have carved small grooves into the glossy wood beneath her, and her entire body is shaking and spasming as she tries her best to continue pushing back into his thrusting cock.

In the end, he does as she asked of him. He makes her see stars, he curls her toes. He causes her to collapse forward, moaning pitifully, everything before now likely forgotten through a haze of pleasure, her eyes glazed over. And only when she's had enough does Treowe let loose inside of her, filling the Potter Heiress' womb to the brim with his seed and pulling out only once he's done.

Afterwards, he scoops her up and carries her off to the large bed he'd taken her virginity on, all those nights ago. Just like that night, he sets about undressing her, slowly taking the time to show her that she is loved and cared for as she stares up at him the entire while with an unreadable expression. Then, he strips his own clothes off.

His intention is to do whatever she wants to do, whether that's cuddle and bask in the afterglow or sleep, or something else. As it turns out, its something else, because by the time he gets to her, naked as she is and starts to climb onto the bed, Hella's hand slips out and she grabs him by the cock, dragging him down between her legs again, pushing his cockhead up against her sticky, leaking pussy lips. Treowe takes over the rest of the way, pushing slowly but completely into her, filling her up with his length and displacing some of his seed in the process.

Chuckling as he leans over her, slowly beginning to make tender love to her, Treowe grins down at Hella as she bites her lower lip.

"Suppose I'll be spending the day before Thanksgiving stuffing a bird after all."

Hella lets out a half-laugh, half-sob at that, and then drags him down into a deep, passionate kiss as the two of them happily embrace, holding each other tightly and rocking back and forth slowly and sensually, their rough, fast-paced rutting from before replaced with lovemaking as they simply enjoy one another to the fullest extent possible.

-x-X-x-

Hours later, the two of them are still naked and still laid out on the bed. Though perhaps 'still' isn't the right word. With Hella resting with her back against his bare chest, and her head nestled under his chin as they laid there studying the movements of various dragons, Treowe couldn't help but smile as matching satisfied rumbles leave their bellies.

Behind them lay the remains of their private feast, along with a few potion vials. It was a food massacre that had resulted from the aftermath of their marathon sex and their immense appetites. Hella had done even greater damage than he to the food population… it might never, ever recover. Meanwhile, off to the side what had been a recessed tub of hot water has long gone cold after being used for their bath. Or more accurately, baths, because there had been multiple attempts to clean up before they'd finally stopped being distracted by one another's bodies and ACTUALLY got clean.

Now, they were back on the bed, lounging and resting. Treowe's long arm reaches out and snatches up another fresh, hot and gooey strawberry tart off of the tray that made the trip with them and brings it to Hella's mouth. Her nostrils flare with desire, even as she whines in a mocking tone.

"You're going to make me fat at this rate, Treowe…"

But she opens her mouth nonetheless and bites into the tart again and again as he feeds it to her, even going so far as to lick his fingers of any leftover crumbs or jelly when its good and gone like those that had been sacrificed to his black-haired goddess before it. Chuckling at her words, Treowe can't help the genuine smile that spreads across his face. It was a good sign that she was even willing to make comments about her body image like that.

His other hand moves from cupping her breast to stroking her belly as he leans in and nibbles at her ear for a moment before speaking.

"You are a witch, Hella… and a metamorphmagus at that. It would take far more than regular meals and some delicious treats to make you fat."

Hella sighs and leans back into him like a particularly satisfied cat as he continues to massage her tummy, soothing her worries and hopefully taking her mind off of the idea of becoming a female version of her male relatives. His private correspondence with two of his sisters, Leala and Shelbie, had been illuminating. After the Potion Mistress and Medi-Witch respectively had seen Hella's current weight, height, and measurements, they'd both agreed she was underweight and stunted in height for her age, with too much fat building up unhealthily in the wrong areas.

Treowe's hand traces off of Hella's tummy for a moment down to her hips and bum, fully believing that her growing curves were the work of the potions and food that she'd been assigned by his siblings. General Nutrient Potions and Hogwarts food would have to do until he could sneak her out of the school during Christmas Break for a FULL examination.

"Besides… you can just shift around the excess mass later as you like."

He threw that out kind of randomly, not knowing it for a fact, but also having found from research that there was really no such thing as a FAT metamorphmagus. The magic had to be capable of some extraordinary things, with that in mind. Hell, she could probably do it right now if she really wanted to… but much of Hella's focus was currently on the internal muscles of her anus, what with his cock buried up her ass.

A groan slips from Treowe's mouth as Hella bites her lip, very clearly purposefully trying to milk another release from his cock. Her back door ripples along the length of his rod, while at the same time keeping him trapped nice and snug within her. Chuckling at her antics once more, Treowe fetches another tart and Hella happily eats it, this time without comment. Truly, they really didn't have the energy for any more sexual activity then this… not right now.

Suddenly, Hella goes still in his hold.

"The Hungarian Horntail…"

She breathes out the name, and Treowe's eyes slide up to where one of the dragon portraits moves outwards from all the others at her call. It expands, likely on Hella's mental command, showing the two of them the fully glory of the dragon that either might have to face tomorrow. It was the one Harry had fought in canon, but Hella wasn't Harry and he wasn't Cedric Diggory.

At the same time, Treowe doubted that either of their luck was good enough that one of the other Champions would end up facing that monster. It would be one of them… almost definitely. Sighing, Treowe presses into Hella from behind as he pulls her against his body all the tighter, causing the young witch's breath to hitch. At the same time, he strokes her hair and speaks quietly.

"Remember our plans… and the emergency tactic, alright? If all else fails, if it gets really dire, dive for the dragon handlers or the judges. I personally suggest using the Headmaster as a human shield. If he wants to fight see a wizard or witch fight that damn monster, why not make it him, right?"

Hella nods into his chest, even as she mewls a little at the feeling of his throbbing prick inside of her. Treowe just smiles. He's spent a lot of time building up her distrust of authority figures. The Headmaster in particular had proven to be a difficult goal, until he'd let it slip that both Dumbledore and Snape could read minds and showed her the actual passage on what a Legimens was and how to protect against it.

"… Hopefully Hogwarts won't be the front stage for the re-enactment of Smaug's Destruction of Laketown."

It was said in jest, but he also knew full well that it could happen. A single Cockatrice had ended the last Tri-Wizard Tournament with a massacre, and that'd been nothing but a nice, comparatively safe Class Four Magical Creature. With his foreknowledge of this world so uncertain at this point, Treowe was trying his best not to leave anything to chance… but there was always a possibility that it all went to shit. That he died, that she died…

Hella's head has whipped around and she's looking at him with incredulity in her face and her voice.

"You've read the Hobbit?"

Treowe grins, even as he finds himself wondering how SHE read the Hobbit. Images of her sneaking a discarded book away to her closet under the stairs after her cousin decided he didn't want it fill Treowe with rage that he has to push down and not let show outwardly, even as he nods.

"Yes, someone, likely a muggleborn, has stuffed a copy in the History section of the Hogwarts Library. Madam Pince keeps putting it back there, though whether she's just daft or actually has a strange sense of humor that none of us have ever seen, I couldn't tell you."

Hella stares at hi for a few more moments before breaking down into laughter at the sheer hilarity of what he's told her. Best of all, its true. Treowe just smiles wider still and holds himself back from continuing on. She would probably lose it if he told her that he had a Super Nintendo in one of the magic-less vacation homes his family owned.

It took the young witch a while, but eventually her laughter subsided. Taking a few deep breathes, Hella nibbles at her lower lip and wiggles her bum against him before looking up at him with clear desire.

"One more time… for luck."

It's half-statement, half-request. Nodding slightly, Treowe takes one last deep breath and holds her tight. Already on his back, he raises up his knees and spreads her legs wide. His hands cup Hella's large, soft breasts as the witch moans, and he begins to thrust up into her ass as she in turn bounces up and down on his cock quite happily, moaning and then screaming her ecstasy into the air within minutes.

Neither of them wants this to end, but both of them know that it just might. Their lives hang in the balance of what happens next… and they might lose each other before the First Task is done and gone with. It didn't happen in canon, and Treowe can hope it doesn't happen here, but at the end of the day, he's nothing if not a pragmatist.

One last fuck before they went to face their fates…

 **-x-X-x-**

 **If you'd like to read more of my work not seen on this website, check out H entai-Foundry dot com and Questionable Questing dot com! I'm known as 'Cambrian' on those websites.**

 **If you'd like to contribute to funding my writing at all, check me out on P atreon. com (slash) Cambrian**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Chapter 3!**

 **-x-X-x-**

 _The Triwizard Tournament was discontinued for a reason, Heiress Potter…_

Treowe Morton's words echoed in her mind as she pushed her Firebolt to its limits, trying desperately to escape the Hungarian Horntail snapping at her heels. Because of course she would end up facing the most dangerous dragon of the lot, and of course the chain that was supposed to limit its range of movement had broken.

Not a single dragon handler had made a move to come out and subdue the loose dragon, and after her dive towards the judge's stands with the dragon right behind her, Headmaster Dumbledore had done nothing to help her, instead reinforcing the magical shielding she should have KNOWN was in place all along to keep him and the other judges safe.

Just needed Lee Jordan's voice to start announcing how close the dragon was coming to killing her and it would be just like most of her Quidditch games at Hogwarts. Something going stupendously wrong, and no one doing a damn thing to help her. Fuck, there was a flying fire-breathing dragon on the loose, and no one was even trying to do anything about it! She wasn't sure if they were rooting for her or for the dragon at this point. No… scratch that, she knew who the Slytherins were all rooting for.

Spinning around in a rather crazy midair stunt, Hella rolls and then dives straight down. She curves up right before the ground, and as she climbs back up again, she hears the dragon slamming into the earth behind her, just as she hears its roar as it pushes off that same earth and goes after her again. She was going through every maneuver in the Quidditch handbook that had been invented, and probably inventing a few more besides over the course of her chase.

It'd been a stupid idea from the beginning, Hella could recognize that now. Challenging a dragon to a chase through the air, like it was her element alone. Dodging bludgers was NOTHING compared to this. Damn it, damn it, damn it! She should have stayed on the ground, she should have used the spells that Treowe had spent the last few weeks teaching her.

 _Play to your strengths._

Hah, maybe once she was dead, Moody could join the club comprised of DADA Professors that had tried to kill or maim her in some way over the last few years. It would only be fitting. Feeling heat, Hella reacts instinctively, letting out a yelp as she rolls her broom out of the way at the last second, both a gout of flame and the dragon shooting past her. The great big wings billow out, like the sails on the Durmstrang Ship, as it began to come about for another pass… and suddenly, it came to her how she could possibly defeat this monster.

No longer running, Hella spins her Firebolt around, facing the approaching beast head on. She flies towards the dragon instead of away from it, and as she sees fire building in its open maw, she dodges out of the way once again, just barely. Her wand lashes out as she goes over its back, the scream of 'Diffindo' barely even audible in the whirlwind of air she's currently caught in. But the spell goes off all the same, and Hella watches as a huge gash tears open down the length of the Hungarian Horntail's wing membrane.

A slight smile begins to spread across her face, and she begins to feel just the beginnings of hope welling in her breast. She could do this. She coul- Hella's eyes go wide and her jaw opens as the Horntail's spiked, lashing tail pierces right through her chest in the same moment that the dragon cries out, losing control of its flight and sending them both falling down as the ground rises up to meet them, getting closer and closer and…

-x-X-x-

With a scream, Hella Potter shoots up in bed, clutching at her chest through her nightgown, as if she could still feel the bone spike puncturing her body, the phantom memory of it impaling her lasting for just a few seconds before she shakes her head clear of the nightmare she'd been having, accepting that it was just a dream.

What made it worse was, most of that HAD happened. Right up until the tail punching through her sternum, it was exactly how things had gone. Her nigh-suicidal stunt during the First Task had ultimately been successful in real life, and the disabled dragon had gone crashing down into the grounds of Hogwarts. By the time it'd managed to claw its way back over to where everyone else was, breaking down a wall in the process, Hella had landed and grabbed the golden egg.

That didn't stop her from having nightmare after nightmare of all the possible ways she could have died to that damn dragon. The Hungarian Horntail and her experience with it would undoubtedly haunt her sleep for months to come, if not years. Some of her dreams had been particularly bad in fact, such as the ones where she didn't even make it as far as getting into the air on her broom. The worst were the ones where the dragon ate her alive and she was trapped in some sort of gullet, struggling until she woke up only to find she'd accidentally tied herself up in her sheets while she slept.

Letting out a sigh, Hella looks to the curtains drawn around her bed. She'd placed Silencing Charms on them, along with security charms to keep anyone from getting to her… but it was probably best to check just in case. Sticking her head out really quick, Hella glances around to make sure she hasn't woken up any of the other Gryffindor Girls in her year.

Hermione's book-surrounded bed remains undisturbed, and Lavender, Parvati, Eloise, and Fay all remain asleep as well. Letting out a sigh of relief that she hadn't accidentally disturbed anyone's sleep, Hella pulls the curtains apart even further and slips out of her bed, heading towards the bathroom. She really hadn't wanted to deal with any of their complaints if she'd woken them up AGAIN with her nightmares. But then, that was the point of the silencing charms, at the end of the day.

Stepping inside the bathroom, Hella isn't surprised to find it's all spotless yet again, even the goblet that she tended to use as a water cup. Now that she knew Dobby was working at Hogwarts and having seen Treowe make frequent use of House Elves, she could honestly see their efforts everywhere. They truly seemed to enjoy working for wizards and witches, though of course, if you abused that enjoyment, they could very easily grow cold and distant. But if you just treated them with compassion and friendliness and let them do their jobs… they were some of the most reliable creatures around.

She needed only compare how they'd acted when she was around them with Treowe in the Hogwarts Kitchen or the Room of Requirement, to how they acted when she was around them with Hermione. Hermione, who perhaps didn't act nearly as abusive as some of the Purebloods did, and who didn't intend to come across as she did at all… but there was no doubt that the House Elves considered the brunette muggleborn to BE abusive, with her constant attempts to tear them from their work and 'free' them from the service they needed to sustain them.

Pushing past such errant thoughts, Hella Potter grabs up her goblet and fills it with water, quickly draining it before eagerly repeating the action. There was nothing quite like a cup of cold water after a nightmare, like every time she died in her dreams, she awoken with this ravenous thirst that only water could satiate. Some of the cool liquid ends up spilling from her lips and slipping past her nightgown, trailing in between her breasts as she drinks.

It was possible they'd gotten even LARGER since she'd started seeing Treowe. They'd always been her… biggest features, but while it wasn't like she had easy access to a tape measure or a scale here at Hogwarts, Hella wasn't blind to her own body beginning to change on her. Her breasts had packed on a bit more weight, but it was the rest of her frame that had grown in leaps and bounds. She was no longer so top-heavy while being bottom-thin. Her proportions were beginning to become a bit more realistic, and just the other day Treowe had commented on her hourglass figure as he kneaded her growing behind.

Blushing a little, Hella bites her lower lip, arching her back as if she could feel his hands right then and there. For a moment, its almost as if she can see him standing behind her in the mirror, but of course, he's not there. Still, the potions he'd provided with, the freedom to eat as much as she wanted around him… they shouldn't have been such game changers, but they were.

For the longest time, Hella had gone without. And then, once she'd gotten to Hogwarts, she'd forcefully limited herself. At first because she tried to eat too much and got sick, and then after she got friends, after she got to know Hermione and Ron better, it was to keep from being lectured by the brunette bookworm, to keep from being compared to Ron. It was one thing for a 'growing boy' to eat like a pig, but for a 'young lady' to do it? Hella had been very aware of the eyes on her and hadn't wanted to… rock any boats.

But neither Ron nor Hermione had ever experienced starvation, or the desperation that caused one to truly gorge on the food before them while it was available, not knowing when the next meal would come. Stashing some for later had become ingrained in her, but now… now she was able to just focus on her own health, focus on herself and not worry about such things. Now that she was spending so much time alone with Treowe, she didn't have to worry about what everyone else thought of her…

Smiling at the thought of him, Hella's mind strays down another path. The bras and panties that his sisters had provided had quite a bit of spell work on them. They were so comfortable that she sometimes forgot she was even wearing them, right up until Treowe was peeling them off of her. The undergarments seemed spelled to adjust themselves to her body, so they were never tight or loose, but always just the right fit.

She never would have shopped for such high-quality clothing of her own accord, but then, to be fair she wouldn't even have known where to look in the first place. Despite three years of rooming with five other girls, she'd barely learned anything about how to properly take care of herself. No one had ever taught her, she'd had to try and suss out these things on her own… but not anymore.

Biting her lower lip, Hella pulls her nightgown over her head and sets it down on the counter, before stepping up into the shower, turning the water on and beginning to clean up her sweat-soaked body. As she does so, her mind continues to wander onto the subject of her dormmates, of the Gryffindor Girls of her year.

Lavender, Parvati, and Eloise were all undeniably girly-girls. They were obsessed with looks and gossip. Their bread and butter was the latest Witch Weekly, and they acted in such a way that Hella couldn't help but view them as a slightly nicer, slightly friendlier version of Aunt Petunia's Bridge Club. The little club she'd created and run with all the other wives of Privet Drive, trying desperately to maintain some sort of power or influence over her surroundings.

Hermione, of course, had little to do with them, while Hella found herself regularly drawn in to their conversations solely because she was such a good listener. Of course, it was rather easy to do that when you had nothing to say and no real opinion on the subject at hand. Fay, meanwhile, was Hella's sole form of salvation in the girl's dorm, mainly because of their shared interest with Quidditch, making rooming with the others just barely tolerable.

Hella sighs as she lets the water wash over her, hands moving along her frame to make sure she gets the sweat out of all the hard to reach areas. The only real help that her Aunt Petunia had ever been on the path to womanhood was buying her all those horrible, bargain bin bras, just so the breasts she was developing wouldn't bounce around like a whore's. Petunia's words, not hers. Years of being lied to about her mother had certainly done her psyche no good. Heh, her aunt would probably crow in victory that Hella was turning out to be just like those lies, but Hella herself didn't fucking care anymore…

Meanwhile, Mrs. Weasley had done a lot by comparison, teaching her about magical house keeping and cooking. The bustling woman had seemed thrilled to help her, treating Hella like a sort of surrogate daughter, even confiding in her that her own daughter was too much of a tomboy for some things. Of course, of late, said lessons had taken on a darker tone in her memories, the more Treowe spoke of the Weasleys and Dumbledore and all of it.

His words… they just made so much sense. She'd loved spending time with the Weasleys, but that didn't change the fact that she found herself with similar duties there as she did with the Dursleys, just couched in better terms. They'd asked for her help, and she'd been too polite to refuse…

The more time Hella spent with Treowe, the more time she spent learning what she should have known all these years, the more she saw the path with the Weasley Family narrowing into a single, preplanned outcome. There was only one thing Molly Weasley wanted from her… but Hella's recent actions had undeniable obliterated the path to her marrying Ron, as his mother had clearly intended. Just the thought alone these days made her sick to her stomach. Especially since the only examples of families she'd ever been exposed to were the Dursleys and the Weasleys.

The combined future image of THAT was a nightmare all on its own. Compare it to her relationship with Treowe and… well, Hella couldn't say for sure what they were together. She didn't want to make any assumptions, even if she'd never felt closer to any other man besides him in her entire life. She knew why she'd moved so fast, but did he truly care for her like she cared for him?

Hella liked to think so. From believing her completely from the very first time they'd talked to calling her beautiful, giving her a choice, and showing her the greatest pleasure, she'd ever known… yeah, she liked to think he truly did care. Breath hitching, Hella's lips part slightly and her hands slide down the length of her watery form. One hand grabs at a tit while the other pushes in between her legs.

Slowly, the young woman begins to pleasure herself to the memory of that very first night. The details of the ritual are a bit foggy of course, but she still remembers how it felt for him to take her virginity, how she enjoyed every last bit of the choice she'd made to give herself to him. That night, they'd done some seriously powerful magic… and even now, she could feel its effects in every bit of her new life, every moment of the time she'd had since had been just so… blessed.

The hand NOT between Hella's legs snaps up to her mouth as she lets out a cry, reaching climax right there in the shower, her body trembling and shaking but managing to remain upright, even as her pussy juices gush past her fingers and across her hand. The water does a good enough job of washing that all away quickly enough though, and a few minutes later, Hella is out of the shower, back in her nightgown, and decidedly NOT ready to go back to bed.

Moving as quietly as she can, the young witch changes clothes without waking up any of her dormmates. Then, sneaking downstairs, she makes her way out of Gryffindor Tower altogether. She needs to see him, Treowe… and at this time of night, she has no doubt where he'll be.

-x-X-x-

If there was one thing that her years of experience wandering the castle in the dead of night had given her, it was the ability to pass relatively undetected through Hogwarts' halls. She easily manages to make it to the Room of Requirement despite the lack of light, slipping back and forth on the seventh floor until finally, the door to the room appears.

She'd truly come to enjoy the privacy that the Room of Requirement provided, and the sanctuary that it afforded from the rest of the school's inhabitants. Hella was well are that Treowe had spent much of his time in the room since the start of the tournament, especially since he'd apparently gotten away with using one of the by-laws of the tournament to drop out of all of his classes for the year. He'd had to take up self-study in preparation for the upcoming tasks of course, and part of the deal was that he was forced to give monthly reports to Snape on all he was working on, leaving his Head of House to sign off on his continued self-study, but then, the Potions Professor liked Treowe a lot better than he liked her…

She probably would have tried to join him if doing so wouldn't have incited a fury from Hermione. Not to mention that she didn't expect McGonagall to give her nearly the same amount of support in the endeavor as Snape was giving to Treowe. She'd long since learned not to trust her Head of House for that kind of thing.

Though whether or not Treowe would stay on good terms with Professor Snape after the events of the First Task was still technically up in the air. While Slytherin still had his back, there were rumblings about him receiving the lowest score for refraining from doing anything flashy and just handling his dragon in the quickest, most efficient way possible.

In comparison, Hella's own fame had risen in response to the way in which she'd defeated and crippled the Hungarian Horntail. It'd certainly been worth it when she'd seen the look on the face of that stuck-up French witch from Beauxbatons… served her right for calling her a 'leetle girl'. She got more than enough of that sort of casual disrespect from the adults around her, she wasn't going to take it from some veela bitch too.

Of course, a downside to her success in the First Task was that everyone and their mother seemed to want her autograph now. If she saw one more copy of one of those fictional Hella Potter books again, she might just scream. Bad enough that they'd made entire book series about her 'adventures' while in reality, she grew up in a cupboard under the stairs, but to have to sign the damn things for her 'loyal fans' kind of made Hella feel sick to her stomach.

The sight that greets her as she steps into the Room of Requirement wipes away such thoughts though, and Hella pauses, a wide smile spreading across her face as a really old record player spins a record in the center of the room, playing a by-now familiar song. Treowe called it "Somewhere Beyond the Sea", by a muggle man named Frank Sinatra.

The song was beautiful, and the record player itself was a genius idea. Modern electronics didn't work one lick at Hogwarts, but Treowe had found a way around that, going a little further back in time, taking a purely mechanical device, and then enchanting it to run on his own magic. Hella really hadn't realized how much of the modern, muggle world she'd missed until she saw him doing things like that. To see a part of it here at Hogwarts detached from any connections to the Dursleys and her horrible home life was… it was breath-taking, in a way.

Beyond the record player is a small dining table that he'd likely eaten at for dinner, alone of course. Not that there were any leftovers or dishes left, the House Elves being as efficient in cleaning up as ever. The only clue that Treowe had been there at all was the dragonhide coat that was a key part of the armor his family had sent him for the First Task.

Dark green that turned black in dim lighting, with the Slytherin Crest prominently displayed on the upper back of it, an animated silver serpent that at the moment was curled up on itself, asleep. Of course, it was all to engender sympathy and loyalty, Hella knew that by now. The Mortons could have cared less about the Slytherin House and petty school-age politics, but they cared about their son and heir, so Treowe got exactly what he needed to survive. Hella envied him for that, but also knew that she shared in that now, thanks to their relationship.

Stepping further into the Room of Requirement, the young witch quickly finds Treowe in one of the two high back chairs, currently facing a large roaring fireplace with a goblet in hand and a pitcher of milk on the side table beside him. It brings a small smile to her lips when she sees it, remembering the moment he'd denounced Pumpkin Juice and Butterbeer both, and then explained why to her. He considered the two concoctions the reason that wizards and witches should never be allowed to attempt cooking with only magic to rely on.

According to Treowe, pumpkin belonged in pumpkin pie and that alone, while butterbeer tasted like cream soda with a cup of sugar dumped in it. Hella wasn't sure she could agree on the latter, but then she'd always had a rather large sweet tooth. Getting closer, the young woman can see that Treowe is currently reading through private correspondence from his family, and she makes sure that she doesn't see anything she's not supposed to as she sits in the other chair, alerting him to her presence.

"Hella."

He greets her as soon as he sees her, his deep voice with that reverberating tone that sends shivers up her spine. It's a tone he reserves only for her, as far as she knows, and she licks her lips a little as her slit grows wet just sitting there beside him. Treowe, meanwhile, puts the letter back away into a chest, shutting it to magically lock it and seal the contents up until he has need of them again. Then, he focuses every bit of his attention onto her, an intensity that has Hella's lips parting slightly as she bobs her head once.

"Treowe…"

Her heart's all aflutter as she stares at him, the thinness of his pajama shirt showing off the muscular chest that lay beneath. Fred and George had been the most physically developed males she'd ever seen before Treowe, and honestly, they paled in comparison. Especially in the face of the bulge between his legs, which she could already tell was beginning to grow at the mere sight of her.

Another shudder runs up her spine as she grows wetter still betwixt her thighs, a thrill at the knowledge that he reacted just from her mere presence turning her on even more. Her Gryffindor nature gets the better of her, and without even really thinking about it, Hella finds herself leaving her own chair as quickly as she took to it, climbing into Treowe's lap instead, beginning to kiss him as her hands, which start on his cheeks, eagerly begin to roam across his barely-clothed form.

He chuckles at her impetuousness but kisses her back all the same. That doesn't stop him from teasing her between kisses though, his eyes glittering as his hands come up under her skirt to squeeze at her bum.

"Gryffindor…"

His fingers dig into her buttocks and pull her crotch forward further onto his bulge. In response, Hella moans and gyrates her hips across his covered prick, rubbing it into her heated core. Only the thin fabric of his pants and the even thinner fabric of her panties lies as a barrier between them, while there's nothing to stop his tongue from invading her open mouth.

Treowe is as merciless and aggressive as ever in his attack on her senses. She loves that about him though, if she's being honest. The way he can just flip things on her so easily, the fact that even if she starts things, she can be assured that he'll finish them. His tongue wrestles her into submission, his broad chest stimulates her nipples as she rubs against it, his fingers squeeze and play with her growing derriere.

And last but not least, his thick erection rubs against her panty-clad cunt, right up until Hella's body shudders in release and she soaks through both her panties and his pants by sheer proximity, covering both of their crotches with a nice, oozing amount of pussy juices. Gasping for breath as Treowe releases his hold on her mouth and brings his lips to her neck instead, Hella moans, even as his fingers begin to dig at her panties. Its obvious that he would happily let her ride his cock right here in this very chair… but Hella has other plans.

"W-Wait…"

She manages to gasp that one word out, and unlike the lies that Aunt Petunia had told, unlike the countless times she'd been… u-used, Treowe actually listens to her, actually stops and just holds onto her sides for a moment as he gives her his attention. Biting her lower lip and wiggling atop him, Hella glances over at the large four-poster bed along one side of the transformed room.

"T-The bed… there's, um, something I want to… t-try out."

Despite the desperate ache between her legs, despite her desire to have him inside of her RIGHT THAT INSTANT, Hella manages to get out her intentions. Treowe smiles and nods, holding her tightly and carrying her to the bed as Hella wraps her limbs around him. The moment he lays her down though, she's quick as a flash to strip out of her clothes, tossing the offending garments away from her as Treowe does the same.

Then, once they were both naked, it was Hella who had Treowe lay back on the bed, all the way at the top of it. Only then did she put her plan into action, slowly crawling backwards down the length of his body, swaying her hips and bum as she does so. She can feel the way his dick traces its way up her slit, stomach, and across her breasts before finally she's in a position where she can take his cock into her mouth.

She eagerly does so, but unfortunately Hella did NOT take into consideration the difference in height between them. While she immediately began to wrap her mouth around his member, Treowe could only grope her ass and squeeze and knead her butt cheeks in response. As she slurps at his cock and takes him into her mouth and throat, Hella whines in disappointment around the thick length, irritated that she couldn't make the position work… or she did, right up until her legs were lifted up and she found herself falling down the length of his shaft, which was in turn forced further down her throat.

It almost instinctively shifted to better handle the intrusion, and as their positions changed a little, she felt his head delve between her thighs and his tongue beginning to plunder her slick wet cunt as her nose was forced into his balls. The musk that was now filling her lungs made her light-headed, even as she did her best to swirl her tongue along his cock, slurping and moaning around the member that's now buried in her mouth. Or more accurately, it's her throat that's impaled on his cock, upside down as she is now.

But Hella doesn't mind. In fact, she praises Treowe's ingenuity inwardly, while outwardly she grabs and massages his large ball sack, even as her cheeks begin to chipmunk outwards from the amount of precum beginning to fill them. This continues for what feels like an eternity, but can only be a handful of minutes, before Hella's eyes abruptly go crossed and she climaxes from Treowe's skilled tonguing.

This in turn sets off a chain reaction of sorts, as Treowe begins to cum a moment later. Hella ends up flopping off of him and getting most of his seed on her face and breasts rather than down her throat… but she doesn't have any time to correct the mistake before the well-hung Slytherin is atop her, his cock finding its way into her cunt in short order and thrusting away.

Hella can't quite bring herself to mind this either though. Its exactly what she wanted when she snuck out of her dorm that night, and as Treowe fucks her harder and harder, as he takes her on the bed in position after position, the two of them going at it until exhaustion takes them both and they can finally fall asleep in each other's arms, a nice, tired, dreamless slumber… Hella has just one coherent thought before being completely lost to the pleasure of being fucked by the man she loves.

She really would have to do something nice for Parvati after the Indian witch was kind enough to lend her that book on sexual positions a week back. Treowe and her had had such fun trying all of them out since they'd gained access to it…

 **-x-X-x-**

 **If you'd like to read more of my work not seen on this website, check out H entai-Foundry dot com and Questionable Questing dot com! I'm known as 'Cambrian' on those websites.**

 **If you'd like to contribute to funding my writing at all, check me out on P atreon. com (slash) Cambrian**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

For one, Hella was the first to arrive in the Room of Requirement, giving her some much needed time to calm herself down. It had taken every bit of her focus and Treowe's training these past few months to keep her true emotions from her face on the way up to the Seventh Floor. Her calm exterior had begun cracking as she paced back and forth along the corridor waiting for the door to appear. Her hands had been clenched into fists that had only momentarily unfurled to open the door and then shut it behind her as she finally escaped to the only place of sanctuary, she could really lay claim to at this point.

Once inside, she lets out a scream of frustration, of stress, of horror. It was just one thing after another, these days. This whole year was just bam, Bam, BAM! She couldn't escape it, it felt like. She couldn't escape the walls constantly closing in on her. And now she had to find a date for the fucking Yule Ball, and not only that by also perform the opening dance! Fuck! Fuckity-fucking fuck, fuck!

Perhaps this wasn't as dangerous or potentially fatal as stealing a golden egg from a dragon, but truth be told, that didn't make Hella feel any better about it. The chance to humiliate herself in front of most of the student body of Hogwarts was NOT one she relished. And that wasn't all, oh no! It would also take place in front of everyone from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons as well!

Oh, and lest she forget, there would be representatives from the Ministry of Magic attending as well, so if she made a fool of herself in front of everyone, it wouldn't just be a Hogwarts Incident, but an international one on top of that! Merlin DAMN IT! Whipping her wand out, Hella casts the reducto spell in the direction of the target that poofs into existence before its even there. The spell still impacts though, tearing apart the target.

Pacing back and forth across the Room of Requirement with her heart rapidly beating away in her chest, Hella tried to figure out what she was going to do. She didn't know how to dance! She certainly didn't know a thing about the formal dancing that McGonagall clearly expected from her. Her lessons with Treowe hadn't covered that part of manners and etiquette yet, not with the focus being on surviving the First Task more than anything else.

She also didn't know who the fuck she was supposed to ask to the damn Ball! She knew who she WASN'T taking, of course. Ron was a fucking prat, and he'd frequently taken to ending up in the Hospital Wing of late, after she'd been forced to rather publicly cut him down after the First Task. The fucking scumbag, trying to return to her side without so much as an apology, as though nothing had happened between them.

The lies he kept trying to feed her about telling Hagrid to tell her about the dragons only infuriated Hella even more. Ron had never shown any previous inclination for such cunning… and Merlin above, it was fucking Hagrid! Like HE would need to be told by Ron that there were dragons in the Forbidden Forest, honestly!

Hella had been more than willing to let the matter rest with just words, especially when Fred and George had dragged him off before he could even make more of a fool of himself. But apparently the rest of her house didn't feel the same way. It felt a little good, knowing that Gryffindor had her back again o-or whatever, though it seemed to also be that they no longer felt Ron was part of the untouchable 'Golden Trio'… and his inability to stop running his mouth was quickly making him a pariah among his house.

She wasn't sure if he'd always been so much like Malfoy and she just hadn't seen it, or if it was just now that he'd been exposed… but needless to say, without the wealth and privilege to back him up, Ron couldn't run roughshod over even his own year of Gryffindors, not like Draco did with the Slytherins his age and younger. Hella didn't really care anymore, it wasn't her problem and it never would be again, as far as she was considered.

Still, she was well into crossing off most of the boys in both her house and her year at this point. Neville was a possibility, a maybe that hadn't been struck from the list yet like so many others… but that all relied on whether he would faint or not if she asked him to the dance with her. Hell, Hella was half wondering at the veracity of asking Fred or George, as her social circle of males was rather limited. It wasn't like she could ask-

Just as she's thinking of him, Treowe finally strolls into the Room of Requirement, joining her and stripping off his outer Slytherin Robes to reveal the full dragonhide armor set that lay beneath. Hella's face falls a little as her thoughts immediately shift gears to THAT particular problem. The opinion of the student body sans the Slytherin House was no longer so fully against her, having flipped after the First Task with her spectacular showing compared to his simple and efficient completion.

But somehow, things hadn't just simmered down. Oh no, young witches and wizards apparently couldn't possibly get through their school year without something or someone to fear or hate. For some crazy reason, a large portion of the school now that that it was Treowe who had somehow cheated to get into the Triwizard Tournament and that SHE was Hogwarts one, true champion. No matter how ridiculous that sounded given his age and the fact that she was still adamant that she'd been entered AGAINST HER WILL, the theory still had its fair share of supporters.

And that came with idiots who had decided they would teach Treowe Morton a lesson for 'cheating'. Weasley had no shortage of company in the Hospital Wing as Hella's lover defended himself from curses and hexes with no less than was sent his way. Hella didn't begrudge him that, she didn't begrudge him one bit of it. Still, it hurt her heart to see him having to dress so carefully in a place of learning that should have been FUCKING SAFE!

"Treowe…"

Rushing forward, Hella gives the older Slytherin boy a hug as he grunts at the impact and wraps his arms around her in return.

"Thank Merlin you're here! McGonagall informed me today of the Yule Ball and expects me to find a date! She also expects me to DANCE! I haven't ever danced a day in my life, much less the formal dance they're expecting. It'll be in front of everyone, I'm going to screw up and I don't know what to do or who to ask an-!"

"Heiress Potter."

Her title spoken in his deep voice cuts through Hella's panic-induced stream of babbling, bumbling words, even as Treowe takes her hand in his and bows over it, pressing his lips to the top in a classic gentlemanly kiss. When he straightens up again, she finds her breath catching at the calm smile on his face.

"Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to the Yule Ball?"

Hella's face immediately goes crimson, even as she freezes up. She hadn't even thought of it. Or no, she'd thought of it… she'd just immediately dismissed the idea as fanciful a moment later. Never in a million years had the young witch dared to think that they might be able to come out as a couple to the rest of the school any time soon. She didn't want to get Treowe into trouble, and they both knew how much trouble it would cause if she did it.

But she doesn't say any of those things. Instead, Hella's spine straightens up instinctively, and she finds herself falling into the now-familiar territory of manners and etiquette that they'd previously practiced. It was much like having her notes available for a test, or even the script to a play. She knew this… she could DO this.

"Heir Morton."

Announcing his title, thrilled at having the chance to return the favor, Hella licks her lips once before answering him.

"I would be honored to accept your invitation and have you as my escort to the Yule Ball."

There's a moment more of tension and formality before they both relax, Treowe pulling Hella back into an embrace that she gratefully returns. Still, after a few seconds of just relaxing into his arms, Hella DOES bring up the obvious.

"Won't… won't revealing our relationship to everyone cause trouble for us, Treowe?"

Looking up at him, Hella has rarely felt more vulnerable. Yet at the same time, she feels safe in her vulnerability, in knowing that Treowe will catch her if she falls, will hold her and prop her up if she needs his strength. Smiling down at her, it takes Hella a second to realize Treowe is actually proud, not just happy, but legitimately proud, like a professor taking pride in their student's accomplishment.

Oh… she'd been using what he was trying to teach her to consider the long-term consequences of their actions, hadn't she? It wasn't something she'd done much of before meeting Treowe. He'd begun nurturing such traits within her, teaching her that planning and strategy and cunning were not things to be ashamed of, but things that would help keep her alive.

Still, in the end he shakes his head back and forth.

"It's only a matter of time before we would have been found out anyways, my dear Hella. This way, we control when and how it is revealed… and we need not worry, because we will make sure they perceive it how we want them to perceive it. With enough in the way of 'evidence' we will convince them into deceiving themselves for us. Still, I'm impressed that you're thinking with your head instead of your emotions. Such progress deserves a reward~"

His smile gains a predatory aspect and that place between Hella's legs immediately begins to moisten up as he leans in and gives her a deep, tongue-filled kiss. His hands are now on her waist, and its clear that that they're done talking now. A quick glance behind Hella reveals that the dining table is only a few feet away. While he'd already taken her from behind bent over the thing… they had yet to do the deed with her laid out on top of it like a feast, right?

Pulling from Treowe's grasp but also grabbing him by the hand and dragging him along with her, Hella hurries over to the table and hops up on it, pressing her legs together as she pulls down her panties from beneath her skirt and then spreading them apart again once her underwear dangles off an ankle. This also has the effect of hiking up her skirt as her creamy pale thighs are revealed inch by inch.

Treowe leans in, his hands slipping under her to grab her buttocks as he begins planting kisses up her legs and her inner thighs. Hella moans and grabs at her chest with one hand, only to gasp as he reaches her dripping slit and begins to eat her out, sucking on her clit and tonguing her cunt in equal measure. Her head tilts back and her eyes flutter shut for a time as Treowe goes to work.

Its not long before, under his skillful tongue, she begins to cum. He laps up her pussy juices, and then pulls away from her cunt, straightening up and a moment later bringing his hardened cock to bear on her. At the same time, his mouth presses to her mouth, and Hella happily wraps her arms around his neck as she tastes herself on his lips. His length presses into her core, and then begins to penetrate her as he pushes past her pussy lips.

Nothing new, but that doesn't make it any less amazing, being filled up by the man she loves. As they continue to kiss, as he grabs hold of her growing derriere and begins to thrust into her, Hella moans into Treowe's mouth. This is good. This is RIGHT. And he's right too. They SHOULD be able to reveal themselves to the school. There's no need to keep it a secret any longer.

Hella could care less what anyone but Treowe thinks of her, how they react to her. If Gryffindor wants to call her a traitor, let them. If Slytherin wants to give Treowe a hard time, Hella will make them pay in blood. Its them against the world as far as she's concerned, and she's not about to let ANYONE take Treowe away from her.

Having finally found happiness, the Potter Scion won't let go, not in a million years. She holds onto Treowe, but physically and with all her heart, moaning into his lips and then into the air when his mouth descends from hers and onto her neck. He holds her tight, pounding into her cunt as she sits on the table edge, and Hella grips him just as tightly back, both with her hands and her inner walls as she cries out into the crux of his shoulder, orgasming along his pistoning prick.

He fucks her and fucks her, and she reciprocates as best she can, panting heavily, needily, moaning into his ear and begging him for more.

"G-Give it to me, Treowe. Give it to me!"

Doing exactly that, the older wizard grunts, his pace growing rather uneven and sporadic. He's getting close, and Hella can tell… so of course, she eggs him on as best she can. She's already said what she can say, but she can also do this much. Bringing her legs up, the young woman wraps them around her lover's waist. In response, Treowe grunts, forced deeper into her. He's cumming a moment later, her rapidly tightening cunt walls milking him of every last drop as he groans a bit into her mouth and she moans into his.

Caught together for that brief moment in a lover's embrace, Hella honestly doesn't want to ever let go. This… this is perfection. This is what she wants from life. Not necessarily sex on top of a dining table every time, per say, though it was certainly enjoyable. But the love she feels for Treowe, and that she can feel coming from him… it's something Hella has quickly decides is quite irreplaceable.

Pulling apart, she looks into Treowe's eyes and lets out a shuddering breath.

"Take me to bed, please?"

He just smiles and nods, and Hella smiles back as he lifts her off the table and carries her over to the bed, they've shared more times than she can count now. Thoughts of the dance still linger in the back of her mind as their enjoyment of each other's flesh continues, but she's not so worried anymore. She'll be with Treowe, after all… and so long as that's the case, she knows she'll be alright.

 **-x-X-x-**

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	5. Chapter 5

Treowe was late. That was inescapable, and yet her mind remained so calm. Hella would have liked to attribute it to all of the social manners and etiquette lessons that Treowe had been giving her these past few months, but more likely it had a lot more to do with the calming potion that she'd been provided with by one of his House Elves mere hours ago while she was still getting ready.

The effects of that potion were still rather obvious, given how calm she felt right now, even as she wondered vaguely where Treowe was, weighing the options in her head. Should she go looking for him? Was it worth it? If something was wrong, would she ever forgive herself for not being at his side when he needed her most? She considered these things with perfect, rational aplomb. No need to make a fuss, no need to worry all that much… just consider the options and make the best one laid out before her.

The thought of dancing with Treowe in front of everyone didn't even cause her heart to speed up, nor did it make her wet between her legs. Though, if he were here right now and asked, Hella knew that the calming draught wouldn't prevent her from happily taking him up on the offer of a roll in the hay. Absently brushing down the immaculate black dress she's wearing, Hella continues to just… smile slightly.

Her garments had gotten a great many double and triple takes as she made her way towards her destination this fine evening. They'd also gotten those DOING the double and triple takes their fair share of smacks, if the echoing slaps that had serenaded Hella on the way had been any indication. Treowe's sisters had come through magnificently for her, having her measurements taken just a couple days ago specifically for her dress, resulting in it fitting her recent growth just perfectly.

She felt at home in the amazing garment, and admittedly, she enjoyed the sense of power that came from wearing such a dress very much. No wonder Treowe had worn his dragonhide coat and armor beneath his Hogwarts Robes nigh-constantly since the First Task. In a set of clothing that one loved deeply, one could almost ignore the nagging irritant that was currently constantly in her ear.

"Ms. Potter! I MUST know who your partner for tonight will be! Where is he? Honestly, child, you should have walked here with him if nothing else!"

That nagging irritant had another name of course. Her Head of House and the Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. She was also in charge of the Champions on this fine evening, meaning that the Transfiguration Professor was more than a little put-out that Hella still didn't seem to have a date. The older witch had been growing ever more frantic as time passed and he still didn't show up, despite Hella claiming she did in fact have a young man coming to be her date for the evening.

It was certainly getting worse now that most of the other Houses and both other Schools had arrived and already entered the Great Hall. That said…

"He is coming, Professor. Have patience. As it is, the Slytherin Champion isn't here yet either, so we couldn't enter even if my date HAD arrived."

Her calm response doesn't seem to do much to placate Minerva though. If anything, Hella would say that her Head of House seemed even more stressed out by the reminder that very little of House Slytherin had actually shown their faces by this point. Hella doesn't have time for McGonagall though. She hasn't had time for the old woman for months.

Shifting her attention away from the increasingly frustrated Deputy Headmistress, Hella takes the time to… mm, scope out the competition as one will. Meaning, she eyes her fellow Champions and their dates, that same small smile still on her face. Hermione was there with them tonight, despite not being a Champion. As Viktor Krum's plus one however, she looked… spectacular. Very un-Hermione like, with her hair sleek and shiny, done up in a bun. She was wearing this beautiful, shimmering, light-blue dress as well… perhaps not up to Hella's not-inconsiderable standards, but certainly cute.

And then there was Fleur Delacour in her own dress. But to be fair, when you're a veela, it's not the clothes that make you, now is it? Roger Davis, Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team, certainly didn't seem to think so. His eyes, glazed over and dull, were fixated completely on Fleur's absolutely gorgeous face. His brain very well might have been dripping out of his ears for all the good rational thought was doing him at this point.

Treowe had corrected Hella about the rather flawed knowledge provided to them by their educational system, especially when it pertained to their opponent from France. In point of fact, a veela fell into the same category as a succubus or a siren. Always female, only gave birth to daughters, and they were born full-blooded like their mothers. Veela had managed to develop a better reputation than their sisterly magical creatures via manipulation and wits, and the ability to hide their monstrous traits better.

"… Perhaps I shall just have to pick one of the unattached Gryffindor boys to be Ms. Potter's escort for the night…"

Hella's ears twitch as McGonagall's muttering reaches them. The woman is clearly speaking to herself, but before Hella can correct her and shut down that particular plan, House Slytherin FINALLY arrives, led by their own Head of House. Appearing with all the subtlety of a dark thunderstorm and looking about as pleasant as one, Snape stomps up, angry as all hell. Heh, and Hermione wondered why Hella hated the man. He was the epitome of a cliched bad guy in not just looks, but personality as well.

"Severus! Thank goodness you've finally arrived! We've been waiting for- MISTER MORTON! What in Merlin's name happened?!"

What started as an exclamation of relief becomes a screech of panic that causes its fair share of wincing from those around her as McGonagall finally lays eyes on the Slytherin Champion, the students and Snape moving aside to allow their Champion to pass. Hella found herself calmly noting that the calming draught she'd taken must have been stronger than she thought, because in the end, her only reaction to what she saw was the widening of her eyes. When compared to a gasping exclamation from Hermione and Fleur, as well as a likely Russian curse word from Krum, well… she was downright casual.

Treowe though… something had indeed happened to Treowe. There were horns, massive, great big curved ones growing out of his temples and curving up and over his head. The base of each one was roughly the size of his eye sockets. Said eyes rolled in almost perfect sync with Snape's at the Transfiguration Professor's exclamation. Though, Hella's gaze was drawn downwards to a flick of something beneath his coat, which went back and forth from one side of his legs to another.

Ah… he had a tail to go with the horns, how quaint. Snape drew in his breath, likely to say something caustic and vile to his counterpart, when a paper bird flies through the hallway and lands in McGonagall's hand, interrupting him as it unfolds itself into a letter. Minerva looks down startled, but then actually begins to read the note in silence, glancing between it and the Slytherin students, it and Treowe, and then it and finally Snape.

"There is nothing you nor Poppy can do about his… condition, then?"

Hella had never heard McGonagall sound so… desperate before. Honestly, it was kind of nice in a way. She hadn't even been this pleading minutes ago when House Slytherin had yet to arrive. Snape can't seem to appreciate it though, too angry and scowl-y and what not to do anything besides shake his head sharply.

"Not without keeping him in the Hospital Wing overnight, which would in turn force him to miss the Yule Ball. That would seem to be the intention of this… prank."

He practically sneered the last word out, and Hella absently wondered just who would be so stupid as to do such a thing. They were in big trouble if Snape ever got his hands on them. Meanwhile, her Head of House clearly had other things to think about. Sighing in defeat, McGonagall nods her head, resigned.

"Very well, we will just have to make do I suppose."

Taking on a more professional air, the Deputy Headmistress straightens up, looking down her nose at Treowe imperiously, as if she hadn't just shown a hallway full of students how desperate she was. Not that many of them would remember Minerva's moment of weakness for long, Hella couldn't help but think. Sheep, the lot of them. They would quickly forget that the imposing Gryffindor woman could be broken, fractured, even if temporarily. Hella wouldn't though.

"Mister Morton, which of these young ladies is to be your dance partner for the ball?"

Snape looks displeased for some reason, and Hella can just imagine that the question McGonagall has just asked was something he'd already asked as well. Treowe probably didn't give him any more of an answer then he gave Hella's Head of House now, instead stepping past the older witch and right up to Hella Potter. As the entire hallway goes completely still, Treowe bows at the waist with a flourish, surprisingly graceful despite the massive curved horns on his head.

"Heiress Potter, I thank you for accepting me as your escort and your dance partner to this Yule Ball. As promised, this will be a delightful and magical evening for the both of us. I am honored that you have allowed me to repay the debt House Morton owes to House Potter on this sacred night, and may it be the beginning of a fruitful relationship between our Houses."

The words are spoken as if by rote and declared somewhat coolly. He lacked the intimate tone that he usually used with her in private, sounding almost mechanical and robotic instead. But that didn't mean the rest of Slytherin, Snape, McGonagall, and their fellow Champions weren't utterly shocked by the declaration. Treowe finishes by kissing the back of Hella's hand, currently clad as it is in black, elbow-length gloves.

The small smile is still on her face, having never left for even a moment. Hella follows her part of the script admirably and to the letter. Once Treowe has let her go, she does not return the bow with a curtsy of her own. Instead, as they discussed and planned, Hella straightens up, and though Treowe is taller than her even now, it can't help but feel to both her and all around him that in that moment, she's looking down at him from a pedestal higher than any of them can reach. All poise and determination, Hella speaks clearly and concisely.

"Heir Morton, I graciously accept your offer to be my escort and dance partner to this Yule Ball. I expect you will live up to your promise this evening for the chance I have given you. I am grateful to see that there are still some of those who still remember the sacrifice that House Potter made for the protection of House Morton and all others. What relationship may grow between our Houses after this eve will largely depend on your actions tonight."

Her voice was similarly far cooler than it would have been if it were just the two of them, if they were in private. But then, if they were in private, this little act, these words… they would not be necessary, of course. But it was necessary, and as those around them look at her in a whole different light, Hella basks in the attention in a way she would have been incapable of only months prior. There were as many different expressions of emotion on the faces of those around them as there were witnesses.

Treowe pays them no mind though, so neither does Hella. Instead, she continues to look on imperiously as the Heir to House Morton extracts a flower head encased in glass from inside his coat, using his wand and a bit of magic to stick the corsage to her dress.

"Your namesake, Heiress Potter. The Hellebore flower in its black coloration, to match your ebony locks and dress."

It's clear that plenty have something they want to say but given the time and how late they are already, not even Snape and McGonagall get to say it. The former leads the Slytherin students into the Great Hall ahead of them, and Hella can only imagine how fast the news will travel. The Hogwarts rumor mill will no doubt spread the entire story to the rest of the school as well as their guests before they even enter the Great Hall.

Though, even in her calm state, Hella couldn't say she approved of the way both Snape and Fleur of all people stared at her flower. At first, they'd been angry, and that had been fine… but then there had come a thoughtful cunning, and Hella didn't like that. She didn't like it one bit. Luckily it ended when Snape had to lead House Slytherin inside, and when McGonagall began to line them up and placed Hella and Treowe at the back, away from Fleur's gaze, not seeming to know what to do with them.

As they prepared to walk into the Great Hall, Hella felt the very new sensation of a prehensile limb, a tail, stroking against her dress. Turning to look at Treowe, she pauses when he leans in to whisper in her ear.

"The orderly style of hair suits Granger, but not you, Hella. After all, you are not a tame lioness, nor would I want to make you one."

As the doors to the Great Hall open again, Hella's small smile has grown slightly, and her sleek, long black hair shifts into still-gorgeous curls, moving like a living extension of her spirit, of her soul.

-x-X-x-

The mask hiding his true feelings from the world barely holds up as Treowe Morton walks with Hella into the Great Hall, towards the table normally reserved for staff. Tonight, it would house the Champions and their dates, along with Dumbledore. Like Hella, Treowe had a calming draught running through his veins… but that didn't stop his leathery spaded tail from lashing about under his dragonhide coat and displaying his agitation.

Still, it was only limited to agitation instead of coursing fury thanks to the strength of the potion made by his eldest sister Leala, and Treowe knew that full well. He hadn't trusted neither his nor Hella's bodies not to react to one another during the ball, especially not while dancing in close proximity to one another. Of course, there would be some mockery if anyone found out he was using such a potion as a social crutch, but that was why he'd only entrusted the task of making them to his sister and delivering them to House Morton elves.

Regardless, now Treowe doubted anyone would bother checking for potion effects when his massive horns and the spaded tail were so much more attention grabbing. There was an irony to be had that the horns had grown from his head. In that third dragon game back in his previous life, he'd always rolled a Horned Giant when they were available, only to be disappointed by an even bigger one being added to your team as an NPC. Of course, there was also the fact that his family crest had horned Bicorns on it.

The occupants of the various tables they pass engage in plenty of gawking, pointing, whispering, muttering, and stifled laughter. Snape would likely be out for blood tonight once he got over finally discovering who Treowe's date was, and once he found the perpetrators, they would pay most dearly. Treowe hadn't been the only one cursed and hexed before the Ball, just the only one that Madam Pomphrey hadn't been able to fix in time.

He wasn't about to let them stop him from enjoying this evening. He certainly wasn't going to stand up Hella and leave her to the tender mercies of the fuckwits around her. Even with the calming draught, Treowe was at the end of his rope. It wasn't going to take much to send him over the edge at this poin- and Percy fucking Weasley had just pulled out the chair for Hella and seated her. Treowe freezes up briefly, just a second, in wide-eyed fury that even the calming draught can't hold back for that one moment.

The social snub, that he didn't expect Treowe to do it for her, the personal snub that he'd done so for Treowe's date, and the political snub from the brown nosing, ass kissing, suck-up all combined to make Percy Weasley the sole target of Treowe's not-inconsiderable ire for the evening. His fury came so hard and so fast that it went from blazing to freezing in an instant, the calming draught probably having something to do with that as well.

So Weasley wanted to sit at the table with those better than him? He wished to overstep his bounds by attending in place of his Ministry boss? Time to educate him on just how far out of reach he was from the game he was trying to play. Sitting beside Hella, Treowe looks around her to where Percy has seated himself and gives the red head a lifted brow.

"Mister Weatherby. Couldn't find a date for the Ball? How… unfortunate."

Percy stiffens at that, and his eyes flicker to Hella for a moment, like he thinks she's going to help him. But Hella is watching the exchange passively, not seeming inclined to take either side, though she and Treowe both knew who she was truly rooting for in that moment.

"… It's Weasley, Mister Morton. I-!"

"No, no. I quite clearly recall Mister Crouch speaking to us on Halloween Night, after the Goblet of Fire chose us as its Champions. How he couldn't stay the night, having left young Weatherby in charge, how he needed to get back as soon as possible. That's you, isn't it?"

Percy's face is almost as red as his hair now, and most of the table is looking at him.

"Yes, but-."

"Quite right. After all, there is already a Lord Weasley who acts as the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department over at the Ministry, isn't there? Surely if there was another Weasley employed at the Ministry, the other Department Heads would be able to remember such a name."

Percy's eyes are wide, and he looks like a deer in the headlights now, but Treowe isn't DONE yet.

"Further, if you were in fact Mister Weasley, wouldn't you have brought along a date of your own? If I recall correctly, Mister Weasley was engaged with a Penelope Clearwater most intimately last year. Heiress Potter, you likely remember her, she was our Head Girl the year previous."

At being so engaged, Hella finally speaks up… and lands solely on the side of her date.

"Yes, Heir Morton, I recall. She was petrified alongside my friend Hermione Granger the year prior to that too. I remember a Mister Weasley frequently visiting and staying at her bedside throughout my second year. I wonder what's happened to her after Hogwarts…"

Eager to get into Hella's good graces and clearly not socially astute enough to realize that she's already against him, Percy quickly speaks up.

"A-Ah, we started working at the Ministry together, Hella, but we worked in different departments, our career paths taking divergent turns. There were some difficulties of course, and we've split up since…"

Treowe's smile becomes positively vicious, as he feels pure triumphant even through the calming draught.

"What you mean to say is, it became politically disadvantageous for you to be dating a muggleborn, so you cut ties with her in order to advance your own career. I dare say you were sorted into the wrong house, Mister Weatherby."

Percy goes utterly stiff at the accusation, but he forgets to deny it, and that's really the final nail in the coffin. Everyone at the Head Table is looking at him, and though it's probably not truly all stares of condemnation and judgement, there's enough that the young man stands and quietly accuses himself, leaving the Great Hall entirely through one of the side doors.

Treowe watches him go, a slight smile on his face, even as food is served and the feast before the dancing begins in earnest. Of course, neither he nor Hella get much time to eat before the next idiot rears his ugly head. Unfortunately, this one is older and more intelligent, if not all that much wiser. Karkaroff, watching them both since they came in together and sat down side by side as each other's dates, scowls as he looks to Dumbledore and Not-Actually-Moody.

"So then, I suppose you've finally stopped trying to hide the obvious. That you ensorcelled the Goblet of Fire to give your school two Champions! They're very clearly working together, and I expect they have been the entire time! Where is the sense of fair play at Hogwarts, hm? Where is the balance? Hah, where is the security, if one of your TWO Champions was even allowed to be hexed the night of this very ball?!"

The Death Eater really had no grounds to be making accusations of cheating or the like. By this point, they'd all cheated in some way on the First Task, each Champion being told by someone about the dragons. But Treowe knew for a fact that working together as he and Hella had been doing, training together and planning out their individual efforts together, actually wasn't illegal. The people who had made the Triwizard Tournament so long ago just didn't expect anyone to DO it.

Regardless, Karkaroff most certainly wasn't Treowe's problem, so he left Dumbledore and the fake Mad-Eye Moody to smack the Durmstrang Headmaster down. Instead, the Morton Heir focused on the others at the table. Specifically, Madame Maxine, who remains rather quiet during Karkaroff's rant, taking the time to look over Hella's glass-covered corsage instead. Being French and Headmistress of Beauxbatons, Treowe wasn't all that surprised that she would know the language of lowers, just as Fleur clearly had.

In this case, the flower that Treowe had gifted Hella was a little bit of an in-joke. In flower language, it meant 'Lying Tongues'… and every part of the Hellebore flower was poisonous. The question then became, who was telling a lie, what was that lie, and who were they telling it to? Treowe knew that his Head of House had already come to the conclusion, as he was meant to, that Treowe was effectively USING Hella for his own gains.

It was exactly what Snape would prefer the truth to be, and what he would expect from one of his snakes. So of course, the Potions Professor didn't for a moment think that anything else might be the case, instead simply living in his own secure knowledge that he was clever enough to 'figure it out' so quickly. Now that they were all at the head table, Snape had given Treowe more than one barely-there nod of acknowledgment for what he thought was the young man's scheme.

But Maxime didn't know anything about that sort of thing, nor did Fleur. Their ignorance left them with broader minds, as it were, and they were capable of thinking outside of the box that Snape had unknowingly put himself in, left to ponder just what the Hellebore on Hella's breast was meant to imply and to whom.

Of course, Fleur didn't have nearly as much time to stare at Hella as her Headmistress did. She was too distracted with Hermione. It started with a comment from Hermione about how Hella and Treowe looked like they were straight out of the classic fairytale, Beauty and the Beast. Fleur couldn't let that slide, tittering from Hermione with a casual backhanded comment that was most certainly less about Hermione's 'innocence' and more about her ignorance of Magical History.

But to the surprise of anyone in earshot, Hermione gave as good as she got, smiling sweetly and complimenting Fleur's dress, before casually mentioning that she could 'hardly' see the adjustments the veela had had to make to fit into it. There were gouges in the table after that as Fleur's hands partially transformed into talons, and what followed were rapidly fired insults in French that shockingly for Fleur, were returned completely fluently by Hermione.

Their dates seemed at a loss of what to do as Hermione and Fleur spent the rest of the meal trading barbs from around the two men. Though, where Davis, weak-minded fool that he was simply couldn't keep up, Krum seemed rather happy to let his date shine on her chosen battlefield, seeing no reason to interfere.

When the dance was finally called, there were a certain level of relief as the contentious, caustic parties at the Head Table departed, moving from their seats to the dance floor and officially opening the Ball to everyone else with the first dance of the evening. Treowe was more than happy for the calming draught at that point, and he could tell as he looked into Hella's eyes that she was too.

Both of them were relaxed. Both of them were… chilly towards one another. It was, or at least should have been apparent to any of the observant people watching that they didn't seem as close as they could have been. The idea was to give off the vibe that Treowe was discharging a duty more than anything else, and that Hella was allowing him to do so.

To their credit, not all of the students of Hogwarts were complete idiots. While many just didn't get it, and there was plenty of derision and anger and the like… those Neanderthals mattered little. The people who did matter, Heirs to various Houses sans Malfoy, who was as much a buffoon as ever, came up as the night progressed with greetings of "Heiress Potter. Heir Morton." Such greetings were of course returned.

Then came the Gryffindors, as they switched partners to 'subtly' check up on her and keep watch on him. Treowe bore with that, having nothing to hide, and nothing to be all that worried about. They were fools, most of them, but they were also concerned friends… most of them. Once that was done, it was Hella's turn to do the same, and they switched partners with Hermione and Krum so that the Potter girl could dance with Victor and find out his intentions towards her friend.

That was fun for Treowe, mostly because he and Hermione mutually decided they could take a break from dancing during this time, going for refreshment and leading to the discovery that someone had spiked the open drinks with firewhisky. The polite conversation that followed grew a little tipsy by the time Hella and Krum finally came to find them, and then they got to get a little drunk too.

Though, none of them got quite as drunk as one Ronald Weasley. The Yule Ball ended on a rather high note when Treowe found himself getting to use his cranium, reinforced by the horns atop his head, to knock out a rather drunk, angry, slurring Ron as the red head tried to insult him, Hella, Granger, Krum, and even Longbottom, just because the poor boy had been dancing with Hella at the time.

That was about the time that Treowe began to feel Leala's potion wearing off, and a look at Hella told him she was experiencing the same thing. Time to go.

-x-X-x-

The advantages given by the potion that Leala had provided Treowe and Hella with were in turn balanced by the fact that, once the calming draught ran its course, their suppressed libidos and emotions would return with the speed and force of the Hogwarts Express barreling down the tracks with the brakes cut. Both could feel the effects of it running out, but luckily, Weasley's drunken interruption and subsequent silencing had been a rather opportune moment for them to excuse themselves from the Yule Ball.

Leaving out through the Hogwarts Courtyard, fairy lights gathered about them, seeming inexplicably drawn to them. Only inexplicable to those that lacked knowledge of Samhain rituals, though. There were fairies clinging to and riding on Treowe's horns, swinging about on his tail, and fluttering across his coat as the animated snake chased them along the fabric.

But it was nothing compared to how they lit up Hella as the two of them circled around the Castle to another entrance that wouldn't have so many prying eyes. Once back inside of Hogwarts proper, the two make a beeline for the Room of Requirement now that they're no longer being watched, the circuitous route they've taken hopefully doing enough to keep them from being followed to their ultimate, true destination.

The door had barely shut behind them before Treowe had Hella pinned up against it, furiously kissing her as his hands roamed across her body, clutching at her beautiful frame through the gorgeous black dress that his sisters had made for her. He probably would have fucked her right then and there up against the door if there wasn't an interruption a moment later not unlike a lion's roar.

Pulling back, both of them blush deeply, their stomachs growling in unison. Another side effect of the potion… when it finally wore off, it left them both ravenous. Oh sure, they'd had the feast at the Yule Ball, but then they'd spent what felt like an eternity but was really only hours dancing on the floor with each other and so many others.

His own stomach growls just as loudly as Hella's, and they stared into one another's eyes, both very conflicted. They were starving… but also horn as all fuck, and it was obvious they needed to eat. Decisions, decisions…

Minutes later, they've come to a compromise and figured out what they're doing. Their garments are of course fully discarded, and they both sit naked at the dining table, which is absolutely stacked with food. Not apart of course, but sitting together, in a single high-back chair that even has a hole in it for his newly made tail and the tailbone that comes with it.

Hella sits impaled on his lap, his dick piercing her cunt, which in turn milks his painfully hard schlong for a release as it shifts, squeezes, and rubs against him, reminding him that by this point, it basically owns his cock. Of course, they're also eating. Feeding one another, Treowe and Hella feast upon the meal provided to them from the leftovers of the night's festivities.

Neither shows any sign of decorum of politeness or 'appropriate behavior' any longer. Away from prying eyes, they thoroughly enjoy being able to finally let loose. And that means just being themselves, just being Treowe and Hella. Heir Morton and Heiress Potter have been stripped away with their clothes, and now… they're simply who they are and nothing more.

The first few minutes of their meal are filled with the two of them feasting but also moaning and groaning through mouthfuls of food as Treowe thrust up into her again and again, bouncing her jarringly on his cock. At the same time, while one hand fed Hella as she in turn fed him, the other remained on her chest, groping and squeezing her breasts one at a time, and constantly playing with her nipples.

It wasn't until after he came for the first time, flooding her womb with the excess of seed that had been building up since their last time together, days before the Ball, that Treowe felt like he could truly relax, his cum filling Hella's womb to the brim and then some, even as his cock remained hard and throbbing, pulsating deep within Hella's cunt.

Meanwhile, the ravenous Potter witch went through plates of food faster than he did releases, even as she climaxed several times while scarfing down delicious meals by the dozens. It would have been a scene of utter, disgusting debauchery to any watching, if any WERE capable of watching, but to Treowe, it was beautiful. Seeing Hella taking care of her health made him happy. And of course, satisfying both of their insatiable lusts ALSO made him very happy.

Eventually though, the eating came to an end, the two of them feeling rather bloated, with Hella doubly so thanks to her weighted, sloshing womb. Lifting her off of him produces an utter deluge of their mixed ejaculations, her pussy juices and his cum coating his cock and balls as Hella stands up and then turns around, swaying for a moment as her balance shifts from the added weight.

She was probably using her metamorphmagus ability to give her stomach and womb more room to fit everything in there, but that didn't mean she had her usual balance. Regardless, her eyes travel up and down his body for a moment, but they don't fixate on his messy cock like Treowe is somewhat expecting. Instead, they focus on his horns, and in an instant, the wizard knows what his lovely witch is thinking.

No words need to pass between them, in truth, Treowe has been thinking about the same exact thing for most of the night, ever since he'd been told by Pomphrey herself that the horns couldn't be easily removed. Reaching out, Treowe grabs Hella by the hips and then slides his hands around to her ass, gripping it roughly and picking her up. As he impales her on his cock once again, his dick returning to its favorite place inside of her pussy, Hella is reaching out as well…

The Heiress Potter grasps his horns as handholds, smirking wickedly as she looks down into his eyes and proceeds to use said handholds to pull herself up and down the shaft of his cock. She bounces on his length again and again, while Treowe gropes and squeezes her buttocks, enjoying her fat ass for all it's worth just as much as he enjoys her tightening, squeezing, rhythmically massaging insides as they milk him towards yet another release.

The fucking, now that there's no longer food involved, is a lot faster paced, a lot more aggressive than before. Hella rides him like a woman possessed, her eyes filled with lustful desire, her needs obvious in the way her pussy clenches down HARD around his cock every few bounces, moans leaving her throat signifying the orgasms she's experiencing at the end of his cock as it impales her womb again and again.

Then, he cums again, and Hella's eyes roll back in her head for a moment as she grips tightly at his horn, holding them quite closely. Treowe's own eyelids flutter as he groans, and his grip on Hella's delicious badonkadonk only tightens as well. They both tense up as his seed pumps into her once more, and then, as soon as he's done cumming, Hella is pulling off his cock and hopping out of his lap.

She moves so quickly that this newest mixture of their juices doesn't even get a chance to spray out onto his length, though it does immediately start to leak onto the Room of Requirement's floor when Hella falls to her knees between his legs and grabs hold of his VERY messy cock, stroking it a little bit and then leaning in to slap its wetly against one cheek.

"Heir Morton… I appreciated the way you defended my honor tonight… you were the perfect gentleman."

Her voice is husky, her tone seductive as her smoky gaze stares up at him. Treowe just smiles a little. She's just as beautiful right now, with her face getting more and more smeared by his cum, his cock resting against her cheek, as she was at the Yule Ball tonight. Reaching out and sliding his fingers through her untamed black locks, Treowe lets her know that.

"You're gorgeous, darling. So very, very gorgeous."

Hella blushes and sputters a bit at the compliment, scowling just a tad and pouting up at him. She'd been trying to play around a bit, but he hadn't reciprocated with an 'Heiress Potter'. Chuckling at her pout, but also swayed by it, Treowe lets out a sigh.

"Heiress Potter… how would you like to reward me?"

Now grinning, Hella gives Treowe's length a nice, long lick. She ends at the tip and pulls back for a moment to lick her own lips as she smirks at him.

"Mm, I thought you'd never ask."

Then, she descends on his cock with all the experience that the last few months of intimacy between the two of them has given her. While one hand remains around the base of Treowe's shaft, the other goes up under his length, taking his balls in her soft, gentle grip and massaging them even as she swallows the head of his cock in her mouth and then more, sliding her lips down Treowe's messy length, her tongue swirling to get every bit of their juices all the while.

It's safe to say that Hella has become a master at this art. They both very much enjoy practicing oral on one another after all, but Treowe couldn't deny that Hella was better at it then he was… and she thoroughly seemed to enjoy it as well. Swallowing him down her throat, the young woman doesn't even gag, managing to suppress that particular reflex as Treowe's length disappears deeper and deeper into her gullet.

She takes every last inch of his cock into her throat, her hand eventually leaving the base of his cock so that her lips can press into his crotch, suctioning down. All the while, those gorgeous green eyes of hers stare up at him. Treowe stares right back, his hand still laced in Hella's black hair. Finally, as she tries to hold it longer than she ever has before, Hella begins to choke a little. She gags as her swallowing technique eventually fails her.

At that point, she pulls back. Treowe lets her of course, the sensation of her massaging, swallowing throat around his cock as it leaves her esophagus just as pleasurable as the sensation of going down it. And once she's got just the head of his cock between her lips and is swirling her tongue around it… Hella goes back down again, swallowing it all, gulping and gobbling the massive rod of meat down as she begins to bob up and down his length.

Deep-throating his shaft, swirling her tongue around his tip and then writhing it along the underside as she goes deep again and again… it quickly becomes more than just a clean-up session. Her swallowing is more than just avoiding her gag reflex, she's also drinking down their juices and his constantly leaking precum. But she goes beyond that and begins to suck him off for another reason entirely.

Treowe is in no position to hold back. As Hella milks his cock with her throat, he simply lets out a groan, signaling when it finally arrives. His seed pumps into her mouth and though her cheeks chipmunk outwards adorably, not a single drop escapes the young witch's lips as she drinks and drinks and drinks. Hella swallows every last bit of Treowe's cum, and then goes down the entirety of his length one more time, all while never once ceasing in massaging his churning ball sack.

Once he's done cumming, she pulls back slowly, her tongue cleaning up any excess left over one last time, and finally, her lips popping off of his cockhead, leaving his cock glistening with saliva and nothing else. But he's still hard of course, and his member twitches as Hella leans away to look at it for a long moment, before giving him a wicked smile.

"Heir Morton… you're still so… happy to see me naked. Whatever AM I going to do with you?"

Up until this point, Treowe has been happy to let Hella remain in control of this night's fun. But there's only so many a wizard can take before he's provoked into taking charge. Given the glint in Hella's eye and the quirk in her mouth, Treowe suspected that she understood that quite well. He suspected that she actually was counting on it.

With a growl, Treowe pulls Hella up by the hair, but only for a moment. His hands move to her hips next as he rises from his chair, and the witch lets out a happy laugh, even as she hops into his arms eagerly. Carrying her over to the bed, Treowe spins her about and pins her to it face first. For a moment, Hella tries to get up onto her hands and knees, perhaps expecting him to take her from behind, doggystyle.

But Treowe has other plans. He pins her down and leans over her, leaving Hella completely prone as he spreads her ass cheeks wide and places his lubed-up saliva-covered prick against her back door. With one vicious thrust, he slams home, causing Hella to cry out in exquisite pleasure. After all, by this point, her asshole was well-trained to take his particular cock. Very well-trained indeed.

An idea strikes him, and Treowe brings his new tail to bear on Hella's cunt as well. They'd already played with the horns, might as well do this too. As Treowe butt-fucks his squealing lover into the bed they've fucked in so many times over the last few months, he also thrusts his prehensile spade tail up Hella's creampied cunt, DPing her from above as she clutches at the bedding beneath her, kicking her legs and squirming, but also moaning loudly and wantonly.

"D-Don't stop! Fuck me, you big BEAST! Fuck me!"

Treowe just snorts a little at the call back to Hermione's earlier comparison and gives Hella exactly what she wants. He fucks her, and he fucks her add, plowing her tight little asshole until it's not so tight anymore, tail-fucking her squeezing, gripping cunt through orgasm after orgasm. Finally, not able to hold back any longer, Treowe lets out a groan and pulls out of Hella at the last second, absolutely COATING the witch's back in cum. He covers her in the stuff, and she freezes for a moment before moaning wantonly under the shower of his seed.

Then, it's over… well, that bit is over. In truth, the night is just beginning, and Treowe knows this to be true when Hella rises from her position on the bed and smirks slightly, running a finger across the small of her back and coming away with cum that she slurps off it.

"You've gone and made a mess, Treowe. Now we're going to have to get cleaned up."

As if summoned by her words, but more accurately, summoned by her thoughts, the other half of the Room of Requirement transforms into a nice, large bath, complete with already warm water and all the soapy bubbles one could ask for. Hella giggles with delight as she races over, while Treowe follows at a slightly more sedate pace, but a happy smile on his face, nonetheless.

He loved magic. And truth be told? He was coming to well and truly love Hella Potter as well…

 **-x-X-x-**

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	6. Chapter 6

"No, I will NOT let this go, Albus! Last night, students of Hogwarts made us an international laughing stock in front of Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and our own Ministry! And that's not even taking into account how far the Prophet has spread the story by now!"

With that particular final biting sentence, Minerva tosses the morning's copy of the Daily Prophet down on Albus' desk, slapping it down as she finishes snarling in his face. It's not the first time his old protégé has blown up at him, certainly not in recent years. Minerva was all for presenting a united front when it came to public, something Albus was grateful for, but she also was not at all afraid to speak her mind to him in private, and her Scottish ancestry made her mind very fierce and outspoken, at times.

But in truth, the old wizard didn't mind that much either. He liked hearing Minerva's thoughts, though the circumstances certainly could have been better. Looking down at the Daily Prophet's front page, Albus hums as he reads the title ' _Girl-Who-Lived Dances with the Devil in the Pale Moonlight of the Yule Ball_ ', beneath which is a picture of Hella Potter and Treowe Morton in all his horned glory dancing the first dance of the night.

Personally, Albus thought the entertainment value of the Prophet had gone up since Rita had unfortunately disappeared. The long list of enemies she'd made over the years seemed to have finally caught up with her. If he had more free time, the old wizard might have looked into it a bit just to figure out what had happened to her, but Rita Skeeter was just too low on his very long list of priorities.

Meanwhile, Alastor had voiced the opinion that the Aurors would probably be unable to devote many resources to the investigation into her disappearance, given the fact that there was no one who was really close enough to be looking for her. It had been her employer, the Prophet, that had had to report her missing in the first place, and such things as the DMLE's fruitless search for Black apparently took precedent over Rita's disappearance.

Regardless, Albus was allowing himself to be distracted from the more pressing matter.

"Minerva…"

Turning up the twinkling brilliance in his eyes and using his grandfatherly voice, Albus smiles at his Deputy Headmistress, even as she slowly pulls back from where she'd been looming over his desk. It was the same voice he'd used throughout her years of education, and it almost always worked on her. Once he was sure she was listening, Albus continued on.

"Surely there is no reason to ruin what is left of the holiday over a few pranks. Really, what harm was done, in the end? Mister Morton seemed quite capable of taking everything in stride. Soon, these particular students will become buried in their school work once more and won't have time for such things. Let's just let everyone enjoy the rest of their break, and then we can resume this discussion of their punishments once classes start up again."

His words clearly begin to affect her, and Albus' smile starts to widen. Minerva goes from looking somewhat like a hissing cat with its fur standing on end to calming down, her face beginning to soften and her breathing beginning to settle do-

"Excuse me?! You want us to WAIT?! I will see these delinquents in detention with me from here until they graduate! What harm was DONE?! I still have students from my House that are in the Hospital Wing under Pomfrey's tender mercies, trying to fix what was done to them! Just because they are out of sight does not mean they should be left out of mind, Albus! Mister Morton got off lightly only because he has been obsessively wearing that set of Dragonhide ever since receiving it!"

However, Dumbledore wasn't just dealing with Minerva today, as much as he would have liked to have been. And Severus… after last night, it seemed that Severus was in a rare mood, and willing to break the usual mold in order to make himself heard. The Potions Master's dark, harsh, cutting voice comes from Minerva's side and snaps her out of it, her head whipping about and a nod immediately bobbing her up and down as she finds herself agreeing with Severus words. But the man is not done yet, either.

"Our potion stock is now suffering shortages from what we had to use up last night treating them, and it will take me and some of my more competent brewers now and until classes resume to restock those potions! And that's only if I bribe them into helping. Not to mention all the ingredients we'll be using up in the process that will need to be replaced!"

Albus sighs and opens his mouth to respond, ready to continue to try to smooth things over with the two Heads of House before him. But Severus really WAS in rare form today, because he wasn't even giving Albus a chance to speak as he turned instead to Minerva entirely, hissing at her as he looks to his side.

"Minerva. I expect to be informed as soon as Mister Weasley is up and awake. I don't particularly care about whether he is feeling well or not when he does. For his conduct last night, I have a large number of cauldrons for him to clean. I do hope that you think this is an acceptable punishment for how he… represented your House of Lions the night before."

Albus has to resist the urge to rub his old, tired eyes as Minerva slowly nods, fully in agreement with Severus on this issue. And that was the main problem, now wasn't it? The three of them had been in the Headmaster's Office like this so many times before over the years. Decades now it was, and yet… and yet, most of the time, it wasn't like this. Most of the time, Albus was the mediator, handling the issues that Severus and Minerva had with each other.

The two Professors had rarely, if ever, managed to work well together over their years of teaching at Hogwarts. They'd kept it somewhat professional at least, but House loyalties combined with drastic differences in teaching attitudes along with clashing personalities had caused what felt like an irrevocable chasm between the two. They would call out to one another across it when forced to do so, but the thought of them reaching across the chasm to lock hands and work together on something had seemed like an impossibility.

It would have warmed his heart to see it happening before him now, if it wasn't at the expense of their loyalty to Albus, at least in this moment. They were going against him, a rare enough feat in and of itself, but with the two of them working together… there was a reason the most basic form of a Chimera was a lion with a snake for a tail. It was rather hard, somewhat impossible even, to calm the lioness before him while the snake kept striking out and breaking his concentration.

Seeing Severus and Minerva of one mind on this, Albus nods in defeat and allows them their victory for now. Both look surprised, but eager to take advantage of what they probably view as weakness, they leave his office, still discussing between the two of them what appropriate punishments the students in question would serve.

Perhaps bringing in the rest of the Heads of Houses could swing things in his favor, as some of the offending pranksters were from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Still, as Albus picks up a lemon drop and pops it in his mouth, Fawkes trilling in the background, he considers what could be done for Ronald Weasley.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much. And perhaps it wasn't his place to interfere this time around. Remembering the mistakes he made in his own youth, reckless and headstrong and learning all too late the cost of his actions… well, Severus was the only other to really be able to relate to that. Perhaps the sight of seeing history repeat itself had made him especially eager to be the one to personally punish Ronald.

Honestly, this year had been a year of surprises. It had been so convenient that Arthur and Molly had a son that would be entering Hogwarts at the same time as dear Hella Potter, and their first meeting had been easy enough to arrange. Albus had hoped that it would result in a friendship that would last a lifetime, but so far, this year was proving otherwise. Now, he feared that it was too late to make amends, and Hella would never forgive her first friend in their world.

Still, there was still dear Ginevra, who'd ended up wearing the red and gold ball gown meant for Hella after the latter had denied it. There were also the delightful Weasley Twins in Fred and George that she seemed to remain friendly with, if their checking up on her during the Yule Ball the night before was any indication. Though even there, Albus wondered how long that would last.

He'd been at the table when Hella had helped her fellow champion and date for the evening cut down Percy Weasley over dinner last night. Rather than defend the misguided young man to her date, Hella had been almost gleeful in assisting Mister Morton in cutting Percy in twain with their two-pronged attack, ultimately leading to his departure from the ball.

It still saddened Albus, very much so, that Percy and Penelope had gone their separate ways. He'd done all he could during their years at Hogwarts to bring them together, and now that was wasted, solely because of the bigotry that remained prevalent at the Ministry despite his best efforts. He'd been setting up and pairing off the best wizards and witches via the Head Boy and Head Girl positions for years now, after all, and most of them had been great successes that turned out to be quite good for one another.

James and Lily, for instance, may very well now have come together and had Hella, their savior, if not for that last year they'd been forced to spend so close together. Oh sure, James had been pining after Lily for quite a long time by that point, years in fact, but it wasn't until they had their shared duties and their shared dorms, along with Lily getting a chance to see James with some level of responsibility, that they'd truly kindled the love between the two of them.

But Percy and Penelope… of course, Albus had been aware of Percy's somewhat amusing plans to become the Minister of Magic. He was a Gryffindor after all, and that meant he had to have some measure of courage. But he hadn't been sorted into Slytherin for a reason, and such ambitious but ill-thought out plans as his would likely be ground to dust within a year of working for the bureaucracy of the Ministry of Magic.

Now the boy had given up the girl he loved and a lifetime of happiness like his parents had gotten in pursuit of power for a position he would never earn. Not to mention the position itself was that of a figurehead at the best of times. Cornelius Fudge had learned that early on, and the mediocre wizard had still made it work for himself, despite his bumbling missteps over the years, but Percy… Percy would never see the seat of Minister of Magic. It just wasn't in the cards.

Having sucked his last lemon drop out of existence, Albus happily reaches for another from his ever-filled bowl of the things, slipping it into his mouth as well as his mind moves on from the lament that was Percy Weasley, to more important things. Specifically, a far more important problem. Treowe Morton. The boy had honestly come out of nowhere. His status as Hogwarts' Champion had been a little surprising, but what was far more worrying was his growing influence on Hella.

Given her violent crippling of the dragon she had to face in the First Task, along with her sudden knowledge of social etiquette and manners that the Old Pureblood families put so much stock into, things that Albus had tried to keep her ignorant of for her own sake, as well as her dismissal of Ronald from her inner circle, it was quite blatantly obvious to Albus that Treowe Morton and Hella Potter had been in contact with one another for a lot longer than this Yule Ball.

Their little song and dance had certainly been entertaining, and it very well might have fooled practically everyone else… but Albus had had his eye on the two of them for longer than just last night. He'd let it happen because he'd hoped that Hella's influence on a Slytherin might improve them for the better. Like her mother had done for poor Severus, though that unfortunately only came about because of Lily's death. Even all these years later, Severus still carried a torch for her.

Now though, it seemed that instead of Hella rubbing off on Treowe, it was Treowe that was rubbing off on Hella, decidedly remaking the young witch in his own image, from what Albus had seen so far. It was like another Tom had popped up without him noticing, and now had influence over the Girl-Who-Lived. He should have paid more attention to the Slytherin chosen as Hogwarts' Champion, but his importance had largely fallen to the wayside mere moments after he was chosen, simply because Hella's forced entry into the Tournament had taken up every ounce of concentration Albus had these last several months.

Unfortunately, Alastor was no closer to finding the culprit then he had been when Albus first assigned his best man to the job. Now there were too many damn fires for Albus to put out in a timely manner, and things were falling away even as he struggled to prioritize what was most important. He was sure that somewhere in his office, under all this paperwork or crammed between two of the books on one of his bookcases, there was a report submitted to him about the Slytherin, shortly after Treowe Morton had been chosen as Champion… but Albus hadn't had the time to read it quite yet.

If nothing else though, he could always call a staff meeting and question them about the boy. Not to mention his other sources, which could likely provide him a lot more concrete information about the Morton family. They herded… Bicorns, wasn't it? It was a problem that Albus couldn't say that with certainty, and one he intended to fix now that Treowe Morton had decided to insert himself into the fray and lay claim on Hella Potter.

… It would have been so much easier of the boy had simply spent the night in the Hospital Wing, ashamed of his appearance as most of the vain Slytherins would have been. If he'd stood Hella up, it would have been the perfectly opportunity for her and Ron to apologize to one another and begin making amends.

But then, if he was going to start fantasizing about hypotheticals, what truly would have been better is if someone, anyone, from any other House had been chosen by the Goblet of Fire. Albus had been so sure that a young wizard like Cedric Diggory, who he'd already marked as the Head Boy of next year, would have been a shoo-in… but alas, it was not meant to be, it seemed.

Fantasizing about hypotheticals was never healthy. One had to play with the cards one was dealt, and Albus had been playing this game for a very, very long time. He certainly wasn't going to stop now.

-x-X-x-

It was hard to feel much sympathy for a man like Severus Snape. But luckily for everyone else, the Potions Master had never wanted sympathy, and never looked for it from those around him. Returning to his office after a very, VERY long discussion with Minerva, Severus lets out a low sigh as he settles into his high back chair and lays his hands palm down along the arms of it.

The conversation he'd just had with the Deputy Headmistress, had, as usual, tested the limits of his patience and his ability to refrain from blowing up in a public setting. Even working with her for once, Severus had still been half-tempted to just say to hell with it and go his own way. The punishment coming to the students that had hexed and cursed his House in that despicable ambush right before the Yule Ball SHOULD have been in his hands… but he would settle for Ron Weasley at least. The others would find suitable punishments, he was sure of that, at least this time.

Sprout had an excess supply of dragon manure from the First Task that was just waiting for 'volunteers' to spread it about her greenhouses. Simply forcing them to do so without magic would be punishment enough, in his mind. Minerva, meanwhile, had never shied away from punishing students once she found them guilty, and so long as Albus didn't attempt to interfere again, she would make sure that the detentions were carried out. Fillius, meanwhile, was a bit of a wild card. The students that served detention with the diminutive Charms Master were usually rather quiet on their punishment.

Letting his thoughts turn away from such things, Severus' mind moves towards another subject that's been at the forefront these past two days… though more accurately, these past several months. Treowe Morton had been the intended target of these 'pranksters', but thanks to his paranoia, which given he WAS attacked could probably be more accurately called caution, he'd continued to wear the set of Dragonhide he'd received from his family ahead of the First Task, preventing most of the spells from effecting him.

Not so much for those around him that had been entirely unprepared for such an attack on the night of the ball. It'd probably seemed unthinkable, but Severus would be making sure that his students learned to keep their head on a swivel after this incident. Slytherins getting ambushed… disgraceful! But one who wasn't disgraceful was most certainly the Slytherin (and secondarily, Hogwarts) Champion.

Treowe Morton was a credit to their House, as even in his disfigured state, he'd done everything possible to turn the night's events to his advantage. Confiding in Severus that the students who had done this wouldn't be able to think about anything else with their work on full display, the Morton Heir had clued Severus in to a rather easy method of figuring out the guilty parties. Removing them one by one over the course of the Ball and extracting confessions from them had honestly been the highlight of the greasy Potions Master's night.

Not that he would trust any of the students he'd hauled in to actually brew the potions that were going to have to be replaced before the end of the holiday break, but there were certainly plenty of ingredients that were rather messy to prepare, which Severus fully intended to use as his personal idea of detention. Honestly, he'd been surprised and more than a little disappointed that the Weasley twins had not been among the guilty. While they hadn't had anything to do with last night in particular, having actual dates for the Ball and what not, Severus knew they were guilty of plenty more irritating 'pranks' that had occurred over the year, and it would have been nice to be able to punish them for those.

With a grunt, Severus snatches up Minerva's yearly gift of Firewhisky from his desk and moves on into his personal quarters to await a Floo call from Minerva or Poppy that would inform him that Mister Weasley was awake to serve his first detention. The Potions Master kept a stock of Longbottom's 'mistakes' in the form of the cauldrons that the boy used for certain students he'd just been waiting to get into a detention.

… Potter would have been preferred but he would take what he could get. There would be no rescue for Weasley, no patching things up. The boy had made his final mistake, and there would be no forgiveness for him… just as there was no forgiveness for Severus, all those years ago. Uncorking the bottle of Firewhisky, Severus pours himself a nice portion into a tumbler, before downing the entire amount in one gulp.

It burns of course, but that doesn't stop Severus from filling the tumbler up again right then and there. Heh, the stupid boy had finally doomed himself. Without Potter's friendship offering him protection or Granger to do his homework, the buffoon would likely fail out of the school like he should have in his first year. As far as Severus was concerned, Ronald Weasley was the lame duck in a family of paupers. He'd never been a fan of the Weasley Family and their overbreeding Gryffindor tendencies, but at the very least, Severus could acknowledge that plenty of them had some wits and some intelligence.

From dragon handling to curse breaking to Ministry work… even the Twins were coming up with things that not even Severus' tormentors had managed, proving that they too had something of a work ethic. But unlike his brothers, or even his sister, Ron Weasley was completely unmotivated when it came to learning or improving himself without constant nagging of some sort to prod him along.

All of his previous brothers had gone on to end up in mostly lofty position, no doubt because of their Pureblood status and Albus throwing his weight around, but the youngest son? Hah! Severus couldn't deny that he was looking forward to watching him crash and burn. Though in the end, he knew that Albus would probably eventually stick his nose in and give the boy some sort of break, much to Severus' irritation.

The old wizard had a penchant for collecting and favoring those that bunked the established order. The rule breakers… he seemed to enjoy making them fall in love with him in a platonic sense, resulting in them eventually following HIS established order, even if they never realized it. Potter and Black, both Purebloods, had acted worse than ninety percent of the Muggleborns that came into their world, and yet, they'd gotten away with everything because of Albus. Even attempted murder by werewolf!

The illustrious Headmaster Dumbledore had spared them the punishment they were due because it would have ruined their lives! Hah, more accurately, it would have ruined his plans for them. Not that it mattered that Severus was the one who suffered for it. Sneering down into his tumbler, the Potions Master drinks again, swallowing down the burning firewhisky and then pouring himself another cup.

Black and his pet werewolf would have been executed last year if not for Potter, Weasley, and Granger's interference. It didn't much matter to Severus that they were innocent of the new crimes, not when there were plenty of others that Albus had covered up and swiped under the rug. And what was the Golden Trio's reward for stopping Severus from making sure justice was served? Nearly being killed by the very werewolf they were trying to protect!

Hah! One might hope that they'd learned their lesson from that, but Severus highly doubted it. Meanwhile, Pettigrew escaping had been most unfortunate. His mastery of potions could have kept that cowardly, backstabbing snitch alive and suffering on the edge of death for quite a long time. For his discovered part in getting Lily killed, Severus would gladly do that and more to the damn rat if he ever got his hands on him.

Lily… Severus grimaces as he sips from the tumbler now, taking the firewhisky a bit more slowly. He tried not to think about her too often, but Hella Potter's eyes were always there, staring out at him every fucking time he saw her. Lily's best features, tainted by James Potter's genes. Severus shivers and changes his mind, downing the rest of the tumbler of Firewhisky as he growls at himself for his weakness.

Perhaps more than a bit drunk, Severus gets up and leaves the rest of the gifted bottle behind, beginning to cross the length of his quarters. He stumbles a bit and has to brace himself against the seldom-used table that currently held his yearly gifts and bribes from his students. His eyes alight upon one gift in particular. Morton's gift was a package of pristine Bicorn horns as well as other rare potions ingredients that one could only find on his family's lands.

The boy's skills in potions had never been anything more than Acceptable. He simply didn't have the talent for it, but he had impressed Severus when he shockingly accepted his Head of House's blunt assessment with impressive aplomb, while mentioning that his eldest sister, who had NOT attended Hogwarts, was the one who had the gift for it.

Pushing off the table, the inebriated Potions Master moves on to a cabinet, which contains only his personal pensieve. His degree of mastery in Occlumency made it impossible for him to completely forget anything, making it necessary to invest in such a device for actually removing memories he no longer wanted in his mind. Most of them contained the worst of his memories from his years at Hogwarts.

However, the device wasn't his goal right now. Lifting up the bowl instead, Severus extracts the key hidden beneath it. Closing the cabinet, he moves to a separate one that can only be opened with this specific key. The value of the contents within made it necessary to have it protected from all manners of magic and physical instruments.

If anyone else were to see it, they would have called it what it was. It was a stalker's shrine, made to one Lily Evans, and it contained all of his most valuable possessions. At the center of the shrine is a moving picture of Lily that smiles at him from its centerpiece. Severus allows the corners of his mouth to twitch upwards in a return smile for just a moment before reaching into the open cabinet and pulling out a book more valuable to him than even the rarest of his potion tomes.

 _The Secret Language of Flowers._

Severus reads those words for what has to be the millionth time, even as his wand checks over the state of the book, making sure it's just as pristine and preserved as the day he received it from Lily Evans on that first Christmas at Hogwarts, all those years ago. Pulling the book out and locking the cabinet, Severus settles into his armchair by the fireplace and slowly and carefully begins turning through the pages of the book that he's read a thousand times before.

Eventually, he finds the H section, seeking out the Hellebore flower. While he'd already memorized every word, every line of the entire book, he still wanted to be sure.

Scandal and Calumny, meaning the making of false and defamatory statements in order to damage someone's reputation. On top of that, as Severus already knew, every part of the Hellebore was poisonous. It made the flower the perfect sort of insult for the Scion of a Pureblood family to use on the ignorant that only their fellow peers would understand.

Pity it was mostly lost on the current generation, but Treowe Morton lived up to the high standards of the Old Pureblood Families in a way that most did not, in a way that Severus hadn't truly realized until this year. Even his covering of the flower in glass demonstrated his skills. Said skills and talents could have shown everyone that House Slytherin was powerful and worthy of respect given his position as Hogwarts Champion this year.

But Potter continued to ruin everything she touched, first by detracting from Treowe's glory, and now by drawing Albus' attention to one of Severus' more exemplary students. The Headmaster wouldn't be satisfied until he knew exactly where the boy stood and if he could be drawn into his circle. Chuckling, Severus summons the firewhisky and tumbler back over to him, pouring himself another glass as he sips from it with some measure of satisfaction.

Let Albus stumble into Treowe's mind, unprepared for what waited within. Severus had made that mistake once and only once. But he certainly wasn't going to warn off the Headmaster. Albus preferred to be the one doing the patronizing, after all. Let him see what there was to see… and hopefully, Severus would be nearby to bear witness to the aftermath.

-x-X-x-

Hella wakes up slowly, happy and satisfied as she's been so many mornings these past few months. Having spent the night breathing in Treowe's musk while sleeping on his chest, it was safe to say Hella was plenty horny at this point. Pulling back, she rests on her hands for a moment as she admires her lover's form. Her only regret is that their nightly activities seem to have left Treowe's body without the need for morning wood, leaving his sizable cock soft and resting against his inner thigh.

Well, she could do something about that, now couldn't she? Licking her lips, Hella reaches out and takes Treowe's cock and balls in her hands. One strokes up and down his length even as it begins to rapidly grow in her grip, while the other massages and kneads his ball sack, adding to the pleasure. Treowe doesn't wake though, seeming quite deeply asleep. It only went to show how safe he felt in her presence, and in her hands… leaving Hella feeling all warm and fuzzy about matters.

Eventually, once his cock is nice and big, Hella repositions herself between Treowe's legs, spreading them apart gently as she does so. It's only when her mouth finally descends over his cockhead and she begins bobbing up and down his length that Treowe finally wakes up to the pleasurable sensations coming from his crotch.

His hands ghost through her untamable black locks and Hella's eyes slide up his body to meet his gaze as he looks down at her. But she wants to be in control right now, so she reaches up with both hands, taking him deeper in her mouth as a result, and tugs him free of his grip on her hair. Their fingers intertwine as Hella locks their hands together, placing both of them down on either side of Treowe's body. Squeezing them gently, Hella keeps them pinned there, even as she crouches between the Slytherin boy's legs, bobbing up and down on his cock with even more fervor than before.

Treowe groans, tilting his head back as his hips thrust up at her instinctively, but Hella handles it well enough, and as his cock starts to slide into her throat, she swallows reflexively, suppressing the need to gag as she takes him deeper and deeper into her esophagus until every last inch of Treowe's cock has disappeared between Hella's wet, drooling lips.

"Hella…"

It's the only warning she gets, but that's alright because it's the only warning Hella needs. Pulling back, the young Potter woman keeps just the tip of Treowe's cock in her mouth… and then she swallows every last drop of his seed as it spills out of him, his balls churning and his length pulsing again and again. She drinks it all down, and only once there's no more to take in does Hella pull back off of his cockhead with a pop, licking her lips and giving him an impish grin.

Treowe just chuckles in response, even as Hella straightens up, but at the same time crawls forward on her knees. Taking Treowe's cock in her hands again, she gives it a few strokes to make sure it stays hard, and then she places his tip at her entrance and begins to impale herself on it, moaning lustfully and throatily as her cunt swallows it up, bit by bit. Her pussy lips spread open nice and wide in that oh-so-satisfying manner that they always do, and her insides stretch around Treowe's thick, long girth as she fits more and more of his delicious man meat inside of her.

Even as Hella fills herself with his cock, her hands never leave his. Their fingers remain intertwined together, even as she forces Treowe's hands above his head as she leans in close, their faces only inches apart. For a moment, they just stare into one another's eyes. Then, there's a long, passionate kiss… and Hella begins to ride him. Their lips part ways as Treowe groans at the feeling of her gyrating her hips across his throbbing prick.

When Hella begins to bounce, however, it becomes impossible to keep their faces aligned. This leaves her sizable chest bouncing and jiggling in Treowe's face, and while she COULD have kept it just out of reach of his lips, Hella isn't trying to deny him anything, she's just enjoying being on top for a moment. As Treowe licks and slurps at her soft titflesh, as he squeezes her hands, Hella moans throatily, fucking herself on her lover's massive cock like there's no tomorrow.

Her first orgasm comes swiftly, but that doesn't stop Hella by any stretch of the imagination. Of course, the illusion of control she's trying to maintain is ruined slightly when her ass is suddenly smacked by a spade tail, but the moan it manages to surprise out of her and the look on Treowe's face tells Hella that that's not a battle she's going to win.

Still, she's happy to keep his hands occupied with her own, even as he spanks her ass cheeks one after another with his tail. Part of her is tempted to grab hold of his horns again, but for now, she refrains, choosing to focus instead on riding his delicious cock to kingdom cum, again and again and again. That's exactly what Hella does, riding and milking Treowe for releases until she's finally satisfied.

Only then does she pull back and let go of his hands, but before she can get out the words she wants to say, the Heiress Potter finds herself abruptly surprised by the Heir Morton as his cock, still throbbing in her cunt, bounces her with an upward thrust while his hands end up on her breasts, squeezing them as his digits play with her nipples.

Hella is abruptly shoved onto her back, though she's in no way against what follows next, her head and her upper torso hanging off the bed momentarily as Treowe gets to his knees. He pulls her back up a moment later, and the two of them touch foreheads as he smiles at her, his voice a whisper in her ear.

"Do you know what my family's favorite position is, Hella?"

She blinks at that, and slowly shakes her head. Treowe, grinning like a loon, abruptly spins her about and presses her up against the large bed's headboard, bending her over slightly as he mounts her like a stallion would a mare.

"Bicorn style."

That's just… but Hella doesn't get a chance to call Treowe out on his silliness, because the next thing that the young witch knows, she's stuffed full of that big fat cock she's grown to love so much, and her Slytherin lover is fucking her from behind with all the force and might she's grown accustomed to experiencing.

Treowe is as rough as ever to be sure, but Hella loves it rough, and she's certainly not going to fault him for taking his due from her. She gets just as much out of it as he does, pushing her wide hips and fat ass back into his thick cock as he plunges deep into her drooling quim again and again. Hella loses track of the number of times she cums on Treowe's cock, her eyes rolling up in her head more than once, and her mouth open in a mostly continuous moan interrupted only by cries and screams of pleasure as she orgasms again and again.

Her insides grope and grip at Treowe's pistoning prick, but it's clear that just like she had control the first time, now Treowe has control this time. The young man fucks her with a wild abandon, groaning as he sinks his massive schlong into her molten depths over and over again, ramming against her cervix, pushing partway into her womb.

Eventually though, she does manage to milk him of his final release, and as his seed settles into her womb, creampied as it now is, they both collapse forward onto the bed, panting heavily, slowly recovering their breath. Eventually, Treowe rolls off of her and Hella turns her head to look at him from where she's just resting, face down, ass up still. He looks back at her, and they both smile happily, even as Hella finally says the words she intended to say earlier.

"Good morning… Merry Christmas, Treowe."

Grinning back at her, Treowe chuckles.

"Merry Christmas, Hella."

And everything is exactly as it should be in Hella's world.

-x-X-x-

That is, until they actually finally get out of bed and have had a shower. Then, Treowe calls for one of his family elves and much to Hella's surprise, there are packages for not just him, but her as well. Now, the young Potter Heiress finds herself staring at the pile of presents that's been brought into the Room of Requirement for her. All of them are from him and his family and no one else.

Treowe, meanwhile, is off to the side staring at a large Christmas card that had come for him from his family, apparently. This being his first Christmas that he hadn't been able to go home to his ancestral lands, it made sense… still, Hella had wondered why there hadn't been anything from him among the presents she'd received yesterday, on ACTUAL Christmas day. She supposed she knew now though, but she really was beginning to worry about this paranoia of his.

Turning to ask her lover point blank why they hadn't just delivered this haul to her with the rest of her presents, Hella finds the question dying on her lips when she catches sight of the moving picture within the Christmas card. It's of Treowe's family, and the size of the card is made readily apparent by the various greetings scattered along it's insides. The only male in the picture, obviously Treowe's father, was a large man with dark black hair that grew out of his head like a lion's mane.

Meanwhile, Lord Morton had his arm wrapped around a long-haired woman with what was probably usually an hour-glass figure. Right now, though, she was showing off the globe that was her pregnant belly. Meanwhile, the women and girls around the two of them were all quite beautiful, and noticeably bottom heavy as their age advanced.

Treowe chuckles at noticing Hella's attention on the card.

"It would seem that my father, Lord Calvert Morton, and my mother, Lady Rhiannon Morton, have been quite busy since the Death Eater attack on the Quidditch World Cup. Before the attack, they were both content with how many children they had. After it… well, it seems they remember what the Dark Lord's reign of terror did to our family."

Hella presses her lips tightly together at that, knowing better than to speak right now as Treowe continues on.

"At one point, my father and uncle were the only Mortons left among the living. My mother doesn't even know her maiden name, an orphan of what the best information gathering has only managed to find was most definitely a Pureblood family. So destroyed were they, that they don't even exist in public records anymore. This news of Death Eaters has them worried enough to resort to fertility potions it seems, if she's already that big since the last time I saw her…"

Treowe continued to speak as he pointed out her sisters, but Hella was having a hard time focusing on what he was saying, staring instead at the magical moving picture and how happy all of his family was, how they were wishing him home for the holiday. She couldn't help but compare it to the two other 'family units' she'd been exposed to. The Dursleys and their obsession with making every picture that had them in it look perfectly normal.

Compare that to the Weasleys… she could imagine Mister Weasley smiling happily while attempting to chat with the photographer, while Mrs. Weasley would be frazzled, attempting to rein in her children. Fred and George would mix themselves up just to mess with her further, Percy would be attempting to help his mother to no avail, Ginny would be forced to dress-up which would in turn mean she'd prefer to be anywhere else, while Ron… Ron would care less, but just want it to be over and done with.

She remembered back in First Year, staring into the Mirror of Erised and seeing the reflection of her parents looking back at her. Hella's mom and dad, their arms around her shoulders, holding her close. But now, looking at Treowe's massive family, she realized that the image in the Mirror had been woefully incomplete. Because… because her parents had loved one another, and they wouldn't have stopped with just having her, given the chance.

Hella would have, SHOULD have had sisters and brothers. Remus and Sirius should have been there too with children and families of their own, but she hadn't known about them. It all should have been… just…

There was an aching pain in her heart, like a gaping hole that she didn't know how to fill. Treowe had shut the Christmas card and set it aside by this point, and Hella found herself wrapped up in the young man's arms as her eyes became more and more watery. Was she crying? Why was she crying? She should have been happy… but the strength in her legs abandons her, and Treowe slowly lowers them both to the floor as Hella finds herself sobbing into his chest.

The realization of what could have been had, of what she was denied… was just too much for her, in the end.

 **-x-X-x-**

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	7. Chapter 7

After watching Treowe Morton, the Slytherin Champion, knock out Ron and then use the opportunity to make a statement by walking out with Hella on his arm, Hermione only paused just long enough to make sure Hella was as happy to be leaving the Ball as her date was. Then, as they exited out one way, Hermione squeezed Viktor's hand and tugged him firmly in the other direction.

Luckily her date was the intelligent short, and it wasn't long before they were hurrying off down a mostly empty corridor. She would have preferred going outside, but that was where Hella and her date had gone. Speaking of Hella… looking sidelong at Viktor, Hermione furrows her brow and presses her lips together.

"What did she say to you, exactly? When the two of you were dancing?"

Looking back at her, Viktor looks almost like he's seen a ghost. The rather large man, already a Professional Quidditch Player despite not fully graduating from Durmstrang quite yet, has always seemed rather unflappable in the face of, well, everything. His self-confidence, combined with his humble demeanor, is a large part of what Hermione likes about him, and why she allowed him to take her to the Ball. Still, even if the wizard is one of few words, she can tell that whatever Hella did or said definitely spooked him.

Still, he rallies before answering her, adopting a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring, and very well might have been if not for his lapse right beforehand.

"She merely… warned me not to hurt you. She was worried for you, that is all."

As much as Hermione wants to simply enjoy his accent and believe his words, she knows better. Still, the brunette witch doesn't call him on it, as she leads Viktor through the halls of Hogwarts, away from the public eye. And she does indeed lead him now, and now that she knows what Hella did, she leads him in a very specific direction.

Perhaps she's a wee bit tipsy, but finding out that Hella, the one who usually got into trouble, was checking up on Hermione's relationship with Viktor and even threatening the Bulgarian man for her sake… maybe it put her in a different state of mind. Maybe it brought out those tendencies that had gotten her into Gryffindor in the first place, despite the consistent whispers year after year that she was a Ravenclaw wearing a lion's mane.

Third year had taught Hermione all the relatively private nooks and crannies, when she'd had to make clever use of the Castle's entire layout in order to use the Time Turner to take more classes than should have been humanly possible. As such, she knew where to go and where not to go, and in the end, she led Viktor right into a secluded, out of the way corner, pushing the big man up against the wall and leaning up on her tip toes to kiss him right then and there.

His eyes widen, even as her periwinkle dress bunches up a little as she grinds against his front. The uniform he's wearing looks so damn good on him, and to be perfectly honest, Viktor himself looks fucking fantastic. He's big, strong, broad-shouldered… everything that most of the boys at Hogwarts could never hope to be. But on top of that, he's a consummate gentleman… something that none of the boys at Hogwarts had ever TRIED to be, as far as Hermione was concerned.

When they pull apart for air, Viktor immediately tries to catch up to what the hell is going on.

"Hermione. I-!"

She loves hearing her name in that deep, foreign tone of his, but it's not enough, and she needs him to know that. So, she starts working at his belt, right then and there, deft fingers moving frantically as he cuts himself off, eyes widening, only to change tact a moment later.

"Hermione, what are you doing?!"

Looking up into his eyes but still working his pants open, Hermione smiles a little, face red and flushed with arousal.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Viktor? You showed me a great time tonight… you were the best date I could have asked for. So now I want to give back to you…"

She practically purrs the words out, even as she finally manages to slip a hand into his boxers and close it around his cock. Viktor swallows and shakes his head, but his own hands remain at his side, not trying to stop her.

"You don't have to do that, Hermione. I-!"

But Hermione cuts him off with a quick jerk, causing a groan to escape his throat as his flaccid but large member begins to engorge and thicken and elongate in her grasp.

"I'm not doing anything because I have to, Viktor. I'm doing this because I want to."

And then she bends over, right there in the corridor, and puts the Bulgarian Wizard's cock in her mouth. She's not about to kneel on the filthy stones beneath them and ruin her dress, nor is she about to crouch down and play havoc on her knees. Instead, the beautiful brunette witch in a moment of impulsive desire to prove herself a woman as well, bends over at a ninety-degree angle and takes Viktor past her lips, beginning to suck on his cock right then and there.

"Hermione-!"

The tone of his voice pleases her a little bit, even as she sucks and sucks, feeling him growing even larger and longer in her mouth. He's big… bigger than she expected. She finds herself having to pull back a little as his full mast comes into being, and she can't really take more than a couple inches into her mouth before her jaw begins to protest and his cockhead hits the back of her throat, causing her to gag.

Still, she does her damn best with what she has in front of her, her tongue swirling around his thick girth and her lips suctioning down on his tip as she looks up at him, staring into his conflicted gaze, his face one of turmoil and indecision. Eventually, Hermione pulls back, popping her mouth off his cock and straightening up. She reaches down again and replaces her lips with her hand, stroking her saliva and drool down the length of his member as she jerks it back and forth to keep him erect. At the same time, she looks right into Viktor's eyes, her own eyes hooded.

"I want you to put this inside of me, Viktor. I want… I want you to take my virginity, right here, right now."

Viktor's eyes widen, but his nostrils also widen, flaring open in a way that Hermione KNOWS means her words have gotten to him. Of course, she also has her finger on the pulse so to speak, or more accurately, her hand on his cock. As she speaks, his length twitches and throbs and pulsates in all the right ways to let Hermione know she's on the right path. There's nothing the big wizard would like more than to do what she says… and yet…

"Hermione, I could never hurt you. I am…"

Scowling, Hermione leans in closer, which has the effect of pressing Viktor's leaking cockhead against the front of her, his heated member pressing into her belly as she grinds against it, provoking a groan from him and an instinctive reaction. They both look down at where his hands have finally reached out and grabbed hold of her. Hermione smiles at this, and then looks back at Viktor and licks her lips.

"I want this, Viktor. You could never hurt me. I want it. I don't need you to be gentle or delicate. I'm not some precious flower that you can break, no matter what Hella said. In fact, forget what fucking Hella said. Focus on me, focus on us, here and now… and FUCK ME!"

That does the trick, which is good, because honestly, Hermione is flying by the seat of her pants at this point and nearing the end of her rope. She has no idea where the things she's saying are coming from, besides that it's somewhere deep inside of her that she doesn't normally let take the reins like this. If Viktor had remained resistant, she probably would have backed down after this… but he finally snaps at those words, and the next thing Hermione knows, she's flipped around, bent over, and dealing with a big fat cock tucked between her thighs as her dress is hiked up quite easily by big, strong, masculine hands.

Hermione moans as Viktor begins to slide his length back and forth between her thighs. Reaching down, she helps pull up the skirt of her periwinkle dress with one hand, and then uses the other to scrunch up and pull aside her panties. The moment Viktor feels the heat of her drooling quim against the shaft of his pulsating cock, he pulls back and then thrusts in, just like that.

The bookish witch cries out in an ugly fashion as she loses her virginity to the massive wizard, his cock feeling almost like it's splitting her open. But just like she asked, Viktor doesn't hold back, not even now. Luckily, she chose a place that's very far out of the way. If anyone did here her wails and her cries and her moans, they'd think it was just the Castle being old, or perhaps Wailing Myrtle or another ghost making a fuss.

Either way, Viktor has his hands on her hips and is finally fucking her, and once she gets past the initial pain and discomfort, which are largely dulled by the moderate amount of alcohol in her system, Hermione finds she enjoys it QUITE a bit. Her eyes go crossed and her mouth forms into a small o as she's jarred, bounced back and forth on Viktor's pistoning prick, which is reshaping her insides even now.

He's so big, so thick… Hermione can't imagine that all boys are like this. Viktor's cock is the first she's seen in person, to be fair, but she's done her research. She always does. The average length of a man in Europe was about five and a half inches. Viktor felt more like eight, though obviously she didn't have a ruler or a tape measure around to find out.

Regardless, he was hitting all the right spots inside of her, smashing the pleasure centers of her brain with every thrust. It was no wonder that she couldn't control herself, that eventually he had to reach out and cover her mouth with one of his hands, forcing her back to arch as he controlled her voice. The very act is enough for Hermione's eyes to roll back in her head and climax massively right on the spot, her orgasm explosive and mind-blowing as her legs practically give out on her.

Only Viktor's tightening grip keeps her standing, as he pulls her back against his chest, no longer bending her over, but still fucking her from behind and below, bouncing her on his cock as her legs shake and tremble, as her knees knock together and her eyes cross continuously.

"Hermione… Hermione… I am getting close… so close…"

Hearing this, Hermione controls herself. Once she's fallen quiet, Viktor pulls back his hand and lets her speak.

"I-Inside… there's no risk. I want to feel you~"

And she's right, to be fair. Magical birth control is… well, magic. There's no risk of Viktor getting her pregnant so long as they take the necessary precautions, and as he groans and fills her with his spunk, Hermione can't help but be quite satisfied with her choice to have him cum inside. It feels AMAZING… it feels like she's fulfilling some base, animalistic instinct, like she's doing her duty to the world or something… and also satisfying herself entirely along the way.

Hermione's throaty moan sounds out through the darkened corridor they're off the side of, even as she clutches at Viktor, her hands reaching back to grab at his uniform. His seed finishes pumping into her, and they both have to take a moment to recover, even as Hermione slips off his cock and stumbles forward, barely catching herself.

Once she's sure of her balance, the brunette witch pulls out her wand and casts the necessary spell, and the feeling of sticky hot cum painting her insides disappears, even as she looks back to Viktor and locks eyes with him. It's another two steps to get back to him and Hermione kisses the Bulgarian Wizard for all she's worth, wrapping her arms around his neck before finally pulling back and saying the words she needs to say, the words she's wanted to say since this began.

"… Take me to bed, Viktor."

His eyes light up, and the next thing Hermione knows, she's in his arms, carried bridal style as they make their way to the Durmstrang Ship. She probably should have been more worried about that, more worried about being in the belly of the beast… but she trusts Viktor implicitly, and her trust isn't misplaced either. No one sees them, and no one knows she's there as they make it to his ornate, opulent cabin and fall into bed together, happy and eager to continue exploring one another's bodies in a far more… intimate setting.

-x-X-x-

The sigh of relief only exits her lips when she's back in her empty dorm room in Gryffindor Tower. Waking up in bed with Viktor might have been a little bit of a panic moment… but the round two that had followed had done a lot to mellow Hermione out. It had helped keep her nerves calm as she made the trek back to her dorm, the walk of shame that could have resulted in anyone seeing her.

But as far as she could tell, no one had. Luckily, the Yule Ball seemed to have laid out most of the school. Everyone had gotten drunk, and no one was getting up early today. Still, as Hermione walks into the room, she winces for a moment, and then moves a little more gingerly. She's definitely grateful for the potions that Viktor had provided to help with the pain and healing, she wouldn't have made it back to the Castle and up all these stairs without them. But that doesn't mean she's fully recovered from the activities of last night and this morning.

There had been a short-lived panic attack when Viktor had brought out the potions and she'd been left to wonder if this sort of thing was… routine for him, but his explanation that he kept a stock of them out of habit from years of playing Quidditch, which to be fair, was a highly physical, highly injury-inducing sport, had satisfied Hermione's fears. She couldn't help but believe him, especially after seeing the many, many injuries that players of the game had taken at Hogwarts over the last three years.

Though, it was a little worrying that the room she shared with the other Gryffindor Witches of her year was essentially empty. There was one or two girls who'd gone home for the holidays rather than stick around for the Yule Ball, but not the entire dorm… even Hella's bed was empty, and the more she stared at it, the more Hermione wondered, and to be honest, feared that the rest of them had had… impulsive incidents similar to her own last night.

A hand comes up to her forehead and Hermione groans a little. She'd effectively lost her virginity last night to a bloke she'd only known for about two months. Away from the intimacy and the pleasure and living in the moment with Viktor, the ramifications of exactly what she'd done last night were coming crashing down on her.

She'd gotten drunk, despite Treowe Morton warning her that someone had spiked the drinks. She'd had sex and lost her virginity, at least partially out of spite for Hella because her friend assumed, she couldn't take care of herself. Of course, now Hermione could rationally acknowledge that Hella was just looking after her, not trying to actively insult her or anything.

And yet, that didn't change the fact that the first thing she'd done this morning was have sex again, this time without the excuse of being drunk. What would McGonagall think of her? What would her parents think of her? She hadn't even waited until marriage! She wasn't even of age in England… what was the age of consent in the Wizarding World?!

Her mind was running a mile a minute, but at the very least, she'd used her magic to clean herself out after every time Viktor had cum inside. Hopefully, that would be enough, because she really couldn't remember exactly when she had her period last. Tears welling up in her eyes, Hermione tears at the periwinkle dress she'd been so proud of just the night before. It felt like some sort of tainted, ugly thing that she HAD to get off now.

Stripping naked of the garment, Hermione stuffs it into her trunk, making sure to bury it so that it's all the way at the bottom. Then, she grabs a fresh change of clothes and rushes into the bathroom before anyone else can walk in and see her. Not that the girls haven't all changed in front of each other multiple times over the years, but naked and feeling dirty, Hermione was afraid that anyone who laid eyes on her would immediately know and judge her.

Luckily, she makes it to the shower without worry, turning it on to steaming hot and stepping under the cascading water. She quickly begins to scrub her body clean of… of something she can't quite define. She doesn't hate Viktor. She doesn't blame him for what they did. Honestly, she can't fully bring herself to hate what they did either.

She hates herself. She loathes her own weakness and her own enjoyment of the sex she'd partaken in. Viktor had indeed been the consummate gentleman, until she'd forced the issue and demanded he not be. The sex had been amazing… but that was the problem, now wasn't it? She wasn't supposed to enjoy it so much. She wasn't supposed to like getting fucked so hard by a big fat cock a-and…

Hermione doesn't know how long she's in the shower before her concentration is broken by someone else coming into the communal bathroom, the flurry of thoughts and self-loathing and disgust in her own actions shattered as she hears the telltale sound of the door opening and footsteps across the floor. But her body is mostly red either from the heat of the water, or her attempts at scrubbing herself clean.

Stopping for a moment, Hermione peeks her head out of her shower instead to discover Hella, with a change of clothes in hand, stripping out of her bra and panties and taking a moment to admire herself in one of the mirrors. Hermione instinctively wants to pull back, but her eyes linger as she does a double take at the realization of just how damn much Hella has… blossomed since the start of the year.

Seeing her in that black dress the night before was one thing, but now bare of any clothes, Hermione could confirm that the dress was nothing more than an accessory to the beauty that was Hella's body. It accentuated what was already there, rather than creating some illusion of beauty. Hella didn't need an illusion, she simply WAS beauty personified these days.

Her breasts, once they'd started developing, had always seemed terribly oversized on the smaller girl's frame. But now, despite the fact that they were larger than ever before, they were counter-weighted by the development of growing bum. However, Hella's growth was not at all limited to just those places alone, her height and her- Hermione's eyes widen as those emerald green eyes belonging to her best friend catch sight of her staring in the reflection of the mirror. Making eye contact was definitely NOT the intention, so Hermione lets out a squeak and shuts the shower curtain as she pulls back into the shower itself.

She should… she should really hurry up and finish so that Hella can have the bathroom to herself. Honestly, she's probably c-clean enough by now. But just as Hermione is reaching for the nozzle to turn off the cascading hot water, she freezes and jumps a little as a hardened pair of nipples on a pair of large breasts press into her back through her curly brown locks.

"Mm, good morning Hermione. Mind if I join you, since the water is already nice and warm in here?"

Its Hella, obviously, but the voice is both familiar and alien to her. Her friend has been changing so much in recent months, and truth be told, Hermione really isn't sure what to do about it. She hasn't been sure… and she still isn't now.

"H-Hella?!"

Her voice trembles, even as she squeaks as Hella continues to press her into the shower from behind, effectively trapping her. Hella, the young woman who'd always been the first or last into the bathroom, morning or night, whichever time and moment would give her the most privacy. Hella, who'd never ever been this bold or confident, at least not about her body. Her actions on the Quidditch Pitch or when the chips were down, and she needed to be a Big Damn Heroine were another matter entirely.

Belatedly stepping forward to remove herself from the impression of breasts into her back, Hermione ends up allowing Hella to occupy the majority of the area where the water is cascading down from the showerhead above them. Staring at the wall, unwilling to turn around to face her best friend, her only friend really, Hermione finds herself at a loss of what to say, despite knowing that some girls could carry on entire conversations between showers and baths.

The moments that followed were filled only with the noise of the shower running, the pounding of blood in her ears, and the light humming coming from one Hella Potter's lips as Hermione flushes at the close proximity, her mind imagining her friend's actions in cleaning up that developed body that she'd gotten a glance at.

"Yes, Hermione?"

It seemed she didn't have to say anything though, because there Hella was, whispering into her ear, her voice tickling Hermione's earlobe and sending shivers down her spine. Grasping for something, anything to say, Hermione latches onto most recent events in an attempt to make conversation.

"D-Did you have a nice night after you left the Ball?"

It helped to distract herself from the situation she found herself in, at least a little. Vividly remembering Ron's bout of drunken ranting that had ended in him laid out on the floor… honestly, he'd probably got off lucky with Hella's date knocking him unconscious. Viktor would have taken matters into his own hands if Ron's insults to her and Hella had continued, and Hermione wouldn't have wanted that.

She'd known that he didn't have a high opinion of some of their classmates. Ronald had never really had much of a filter between his thoughts and his mouth, and comments made over the years from running said mouth without thinking had included sending Hermione herself crying to the bathroom and a veritable list of other consequences. Just this year, she'd tried to take pity on him while he was still seeking a date and had suggested Eloise Midgen.

Ron had responded by stating he'd rather go alone then with her, insulting the poor witch in the process within earshot of her. And then he had, showing up in those terrible robes that a few spells could have fixed if he only paid attention in class. Honestly, Eloise had been the one to dodge a bullet there, and when she got back from spending the holidays with her family, Hermione hoped someone told her just how much of a fool of himself Ron had made.

Ah, but Hella was taking a long time to answer Hermione's question. A lot longer than necessary…

"It was… magical."

And yet, when the answer finally comes, she almost doesn't want to hear it. The words escape Hella's lips in a breathy moan, and Hermione's eyes widen in shock as she instinctively turns around to look at her friend, knowing what Hella is implying right then and there. She regrets this decision almost immediately of course, as it forces her to look at Hella's body, at the witch's hands, one of which was in the middle of squeezing a breast while the other was tucked between Hella's legs.

Hermione's mind immediately compares Hella's body to her own, and she finds herself wondering how this could be. Hadn't she been taller than Hella just a few months ago? How had this changed? But more importantly than that, how long had Hella been MASTURBATING right behind her?! Was her friend attracted to other-

"What about your own night, hmm, Hermione? I was rather surprised, you know. There's something different about you from when we last saw each other… isn't there?"

Hermione's thoughts derail on the spot, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish as she stares into her friend's mesmerizing, emerald green eyes. If Hella, who was rather dense and ignorant on feminine, sexual matters at the best of times, could pick up that there was something off about her, how could Hermione possibly hope to hide it from everyone else?

Lavender and Parvati would know instantly, and then the rest of the school would know by the end of the day. The dam breaks, and all of the self-loathing and self-incrimination wells up in Hermione at once as she begins to sob. At the same time, despite the fact that Hella is still touching herself right before her eyes, the brunette witch finds herself tearfully spilling the beans to her best friend, explaining what had happened between her and Viktor last night and that morning.

The other girl's hands quickly fall away from her own body, and Hermione freezes up in shock when Hella subsequently pulls her into a big hug, their breasts smooshing together, though it's more like Hella's much larger tits squash her own, smaller chest.

"Congratulations Hermione! I'm so happy for you!"

It takes her several moments for Hermione to process how Hella is reacting to her teary explanation. She's excited for her. She's… she's congratulating her? Maybe it's the water streaming down both their bodies that's keeping the crying from b-being obvious? But regardless, truth be told, Hermione has never felt further away from understanding Hella than in that moment.

"T-This isn't something to be happy about, H-Hella!"

The green-eyed girl blinks and then frowns.

"And why not?"

"B-Because… we're not married!"

That gets a scoff from her friend, who is still VERY close to her, their soapy wet bodies rubbing together continuously.

"Did he force you to have sex with him, Hermione?"

"W-What?! No! I came on to him!"

"Did he hurt you, did he take things further than you wanted them to go?"

"Of course not! Viktor is a perfect gentleman! I had to provoke him for ages just to get him not to go easy on him thanks to you!"

Hella's grin is wide and wicked now as she leans in close, making Hermione feel like a rabbit in a trap.

"Did you enjoy it?"

And that was the kicker, wasn't it? She couldn't lie, Hella would know. Hermione wasn't sure how she knew that, but she just could somehow feel that Hella would know.

"… Yes…"

So, she tells the truth, and a moment later Hella's hug is all the tighter and her lips are pressed against Hermione's as she begins kissing the ever-living daylights out of her. W-What?! Why?! How?! When?! Hermione's thought processes rapidly fire in one last attempt at figuring out what's going on through rationality and logic, before ultimately just melting into the sensational makeout session with her first ever friend.

Their lips smack against one another, their tongues intertwine, and the tears are washed away as Hermione falls into an abyss of pleasure. But not quite… not quite. Her mind snaps into focus as she catches herself on the edge of this abyss, and she pushes Hella away as she tries to regain some semblance of control over the situation.

She's always been smart, always been rather quick. Her mind is rapidly making connections now. Hella's development in confidence, in body, and in apparent sexual knowledge, combined with her development in spell knowledge and her growing viciousness… her surprising date for the Yule Ball, who she then left the Yule Ball with… and the fact that she hadn't returned to the dorms until now, late the next morning.

"H-Hella… Hella, this is wrong! W-We're wrong… the both of us shouldn't be involved with men so much o-older than us at our age!"

Hella just stares at her for a moment, blank and uncomprehending, so Hermione soldiers on, trying to get through to her.

"Something is wrong, Hella! We need to get help, maybe one of the Prof- oof!"

The word doesn't even fully get out of her lips before she's slammed up against the shower wall, sharpened nails digging into her shoulders as the wind is knocked out of her. Hella's gorgeous green eyes almost seem to glow and spark as they harden into a glare, her gaze piercing Hermione's very soul, or so it feels. She can't look away from her friend, can't look away from the way her drenched, black hair adds to the fearful image that is Hella Potter in this moment.

"Help?! For years, I tried to get help. From teachers, from police officers. Long before I knew I was a witch, I just wanted someone to save me from the Dursleys. You know what I got instead?!"

Hermione whimpers, fearfully shaking her head back and forth.

"No one ever did anything! They'd forget, or they'd leave, or they'd be fired! But worse… worse were the ones that didn't believe me, that thought I was lying, that TOLD MY RELATIVES, SO I COULD BE PUNISHED!"

Hella looks… she looks inhuman right now. Hermione has never felt more terrified of anyone before, let alone her best friend. And yet, she hears and comprehends every word, as if Hella is pounding them into her mind like a blacksmith banging out a piece of metal on an anvil.

"Then, I come to Hogwarts! I thought things might be different! I thought, maybe I can finally get HELP from those who are meant to give it to me! Ha! What a laugh! Every single year, something happens. Every single year, I've gone to those who should be able to solve the problem. What do they do, Hermione? What did McGonagall tell us to do in our First Year? You didn't make it to the Mirror, but I did! If we'd waited for fucking Dumbledore, Voldemort would have gotten the damn stone!"

Spittle is practically flying from Hella's lips at this point, and Hermione doesn't dare interrupt, not least of which because nothing Hella has said so far is WRONG.

"And then second year? Ginny gets taken into the Chamber of Secrets, and what does the man who was supposed to be our teacher do? He tries to mind wipe me and Ron with a broken wand! Third year, who had to fight the damn dementors at every turn, who had to learn the Patronus Charm just to protect her eternal fucking soul?! WHO HAD TO TRAVEL BACK IN TIME BECAUSE THOSE IN POWER COULD DO NOTHING TO RIGHT A TERRIBLE INJUSTICE?!"

Hermione's breath is coming out in short gasps at this point. But the problem is, Hella is right. Every word she's said is TRUE. It's all just…

"Now, when my life is finally on the right track, when everything is going great and I'm actually happy for once… you want me to seek 'help' in order to go back to the way things were before?! No! Not this time! Do you understand me Hermione?! Not this time!"

Whimpering, Hermione shakily nods. It's a mixture, to be fair. Half of her thinks Hella is right. Half of her is just terrified of her friend in this moment. ALL of her is unwilling to go against the powerful witch though, she can FEEL Hella's magic whipping around her ferociously.

"Swear it, Hermione. Swear that you won't betray me."

Hella's tone is quiet, and silken… but she herself is no less dangerous. Still, the lowering in volume does help Hermione calm down a bit, and as she swallows thickly, the brunette witch nods again, this time with more confidence.

"I-I… I promise, Hella. I won't. I could n-never betray you…"

And it's true, in a way. As much as Hermione loves the pursuit of knowledge, as much as she loves getting good grades… Hella Potter is the center of her universe. She's followed the witch into danger too many times, trailed after her all these last four years too often to abandon what they have now.

"Good! I knew I could count on you Hermione, thank you for understanding!"

Though there's no denying that having her do a one eighty back to friendly and affectionate right before Hermione's eyes was more than a little freaky. Then, the dark-haired witch is descending to her knees right in front of Hermione, and before the brunette can say a word, there's a tongue in her cunt, and a nose pressing against her clit.

"A-Ah!"

Hermione doubles over Hella, her hands gripping at the other girl's hair. And yet, it's almost as if said hair has a life of its own, because rather than remaining limp and wet in her grasp, it almost seems to cling to her, gripping right back. At the same time, Hella's tongue is deeper inside of Hermione's cunt then even Viktor's cock could get, though it's obviously not nearly as thick or as big.

Still, as the young woman's tongue flicks against Hermione's cervix while writhing along the inside walls of her pussy, there's just no way for the brunette bookworm to resist. She cries out even louder as she orgasms around Hella's tongue, eyes rolling back in her head for a moment and jaw dropped wide open. This… t-this… wasn't how she expected her morning to go. But as things escalate and Hella shows off her metamorphmagus abilities while also playing with Hermione's butt, the brunette can't quite deny her enjoyment of it all.

-x-X-x-

Things eventually move to Hermione's bed, and Hella only pauses long enough to close the curtains and reinforce their privacy with a couple of spells before she falls upon her friend lustfully, playing with her, teasing her, using her to her heart's content. In Hella's mind, this can only reinforce her control. She's shown Hermione the carrot and the stick, but now she needs to make it all actually STICK, she needs to make sure Hermione understands their new relationship.

Needless to say, Hella plays with Hermione's body like a finely tuned instrument, silently thanking Treowe for the lessons in pleasure all the while. She could really only do this, could really only assert her dominance over the other witch because of everything that Treowe had knowingly and unknowingly taught her.

For instance, as she touches Hermione in all the right places and all the right ways, as she makes her friend's face contort in honest pleasure, as she fingers her and gropes her tits and runs her digits along her skin until goosebumps pop up… she's only doing what Treowe would do to her. Sure, Hella's body is a fair bit more developed than Hermione's, but it's all too easy to simply remember how Treowe touched her, and then replicate that across Hermione's smooth, nubile young flesh.

And the brunette witch is so responsive too! Hella is convinced by the fifth orgasm that Hermione was just waiting for this to happen, just waiting for someone to come along and put her in her place. She and Viktor could be a couple, Hella didn't mind that, but there was no doubt in her mind that at the end of the day, Hermione only had one mistress… and that was Hella.

She didn't consider it rewriting history to say that Hermione was her first friend. Ron was a leech, and he always had been, no matter how he'd wormed his way into her younger self's good graces. Now that Hella could see that clearly, now that she had the gift of hindsight, she had no doubts that Ron was never truly her friend, never truly anything but a hanger-on who tricked her into thinking he was something more.

Hermione though, Hermione cared. She'd always cared, and she always would. They were close, closer than sisters… and now, closer than friends. Hella delighted in provoking all sorts of pleasured responses from Hermione, delighted in watching the young woman writhe and wiggle beneath her. And she would continue to delight in it for many hours more, because while it was now Monday, the Yule Ball having taken place on a Sunday, they had the rest of the week off still for the holidays.

And Hella? Hella intended to use every last moment of that time to the fullest.

 **-x-X-x-**

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	8. Chapter 8

As soon as he was inside of the Room of Requirement and the door was closed behind him, Treowe let out a sigh and sagged against it, both relieved and more than a little exasperated. Still, he was safe now, for a relative value of the term. The Room of Requirement's enchantments meant that something like the way mail owls always knew where to find you just didn't work when you were within its boundaries.

Which was exactly what Treowe needed, at the moment. Barely two days since the Yule Ball had passed, and the results of his machinations (as well as the things that HADN'T been part of his plans) had been across the Prophet's front-page article for all to see. Even without Rita, they still found a way to sell papers via sensationalized hogwash. At this point, everyone that had an owl and an opinion had seen it, because they were all trying to send him letters expressing those opinions.

Reaching up, Treowe rubs at his still-present horns, noting that the skin around them has once again dried out and is in fact beginning to chaff. He would have to reapply the balm that his Head of House had provided, as human skin was not meant to coexist with such growths, even when the growths came from magical means. Or perhaps especially because they came from magical means.

The tail issuing from his spine and tailbone was a bit less of a problem, since the skin back there was already more calloused from past experience riding Bicorns. Chuckling slightly at the thought, Treowe pulls out the provided jar of balm from his moleskin pouch and begins to apply it to the flesh around the base of his wickedly curved horns, even as he contemplates all the trouble, he now finds himself in.

He'd wasted several hours the day after the Yule Ball, waiting for Madam Pomfrey to finally declare that it was beyond her ability to fix him, as the changes were actively resisting her attempts to cure him of whatever kind of curse or potion effect that had done this to him. The only other short-term option was to cut the horns off altogether, but there was no telling how that would go, or what would happen as a result. Best to wait a little while longer.

On the other hand, watching a hungover Weasley get woken up from an impromptu nap over at the Gryffindor Table by a howler from his mother had definitely been enjoyable. The Prophet, once it got through the juicier gossip concerning the Triwizard Champions, had fixated on Ron as the youngest son of a Ministry Official, meaning his actions were also bared for all to see.

Regardless, Madam Pomfrey hadn't been able to do jack shit, though she'd had plenty to SAY about it. Apparently, his additions appeared to be a self-transfiguration attempt into some large-horned beast gone wrong. Obviously, there was nothing 'self' about this particular transfiguration, but there was also little Treowe could say or suggest on the subject, as she was coming close to infringing on Family secrets he was magically bound to never speak of outside of his bloodline.

It was fine though, Treowe knew from his elder sister, Shelbie, that Pomfrey had a degree of proficiency and expertise in the healing arts, but despite her age, she'd never actually secured a master in the subject. He supposed that explained why she was Hogwarts' nurse, rather than a Mediwitch as St. Mungo's or the like.

All in all, what that meant was, he would need to leave Hogwarts and return home for a time to be treated and cured of the additions to his body under Shelbie's care. Luckily for Treowe, that was something that Lord Morton had already ordered in a letter delivered via House Elf to his personal quarters in the Slytherin dorms. Of course, Treowe would have gladly left already, given Snape had easily acquiesced to the need, but his status as Hogwarts Champion put him under the direct purview of Dumbledore, and the old man was currently stalling for time as he tried to figure things out, or so it seemed from Treowe's perspective.

Being Hella's date to the Yule Ball had kicked over an anthill, stirred up the hornet's nest, poked the sleeping dragon, and a whole other slew of similar sayings. But it was probably time for it to be done, if for no other reason than to get them used to the idea when his and Hella's TRUE relationship finally came into the light. It wouldn't be as surprising then, and hopefully, wouldn't be as objectionable either.

Not that Treowe was inclined to give two flying fucks what anyone else though, especially in the backwards-ass wizarding world, but still… it would be nice not to make dozens upon dozens of enemies when the time finally came. Heh, still, he did wonder just how many people would try to approach Hella outright when they received no response to the many letters that had likely been sent to her already. Given the size of his own pile, Treowe could only imagine that Hella's was twice as large, easily. Perhaps even more.

Pressing his lips together, Treowe moves over to one of the Room's tables, a different one than the one they usually ate at… or fucked at, for that matter. Pulling up his moleskin pouch, Treowe opens it and calls out succinctly into the open air.

"Letters."

Out of the wizarding equivalent of the usual fantasy RPG's "Bag of Holding" pours a stream of letters, flowing out of the opening like a river and landing on the table where they quickly form a few neat, orderly towers. There were dozens of them, well over a hundred at least, and that didn't even include the Howlers he had been using for targeting practice with his wand these last two days.

"Binky!"

His call is immediately answered by the pop of a House Elf of House Morton. Clad in a toga embroidered with their coat of arms, Binky the House Elf blinks rapidly, his large eyes looking around.

"Binky is here, Master Morton!"

Said eyes settle on the table covered in letters a moment later, and his long ears begin twitching as he starts to bounce in place with excitement, happily awaiting orders. Treowe smiles slightly at the sight.

"Binky. I have mail that needs to be sorted, obviously. However, I expect much of it is either cursed or laced with unpleasant things. Gather as much help as you need from home and quarantine any laced envelopes for Leela to experiment with when she gets the chance. No doubt, she'll enjoy the challenge of figuring out how serious a threat to my person each of them was, and it'll make it all the easier for House Morton to bring charges against those foolish enough to try and harm me."

Binky's head is bobbing up and down constantly as Treowe speaks. When he pauses for a moment, Binky doesn't move quite yet, having learned long ago when Master was done speaking and when Master was just catching his breath before continuing.

"… Have Cuppa prepare and deliver me some of her coffee as well, I'm going to be up for a while responding to the legitimate correspondence in this pile."

There's a high-pitched sound from Binky, clearly excited, as he pops away, and Treowe chuckles briefly before sitting down in a high back chair in front of the roaring magical fire that the Room produced. There was a hole in the back for his still-present tail, and Treowe couldn't help but wonder for a moment if there was a supply of chairs with holes like this one stashed in Hogwarts, or if the Room simply modified or summoned its own.

He's barely settled into the chair when a sound not unlike a roll of bubble wrap being twisted all at once sounds out. Before him stands the wide-eyed, caffeine junkie of a House Elf that the Morton Family had affectionately named 'Cuppa'. Smiling, Treowe reaches out and takes the silverware pot from her shaking hands, pouring himself a drink into the cup and saucer that had already appeared with the end table beside his chair.

"Thank you, Cuppa."

And he means it too, every ounce of gratitude is genuine as he inhales the aroma of freshly made coffee. In response, Cuppa squeaks and releases a rush of words that, truth be told, Treowe doesn't quite catch before she ultimately pops away. Meanwhile, behind him the elves work to sort out the mail he's left for them, as he relaxes in his chair, drinking his coffee.

They wouldn't need his help in sorting the malignant from the benign, as House Elf magic, especially when it was used in defense of their official Master, was some of the most powerful magic in the world. But more importantly, none of them would WANT his help, even if he were to try to provide it as some sort of gesture of his care for them. They hated having tasks taken from them, even in that sort of small way.

So Treowe stared where he was and enjoyed his coffee, which Cuppa was absolutely a wonder at making, waiting for his House Elves to finish their work and give him the portion of letters that weren't going to try to curse his cock off or something like that in some misguided attempt to 'protect Hella Potter'.

… Yeah, he definitely wouldn't be surprised if Leela came back to him weeks later to tell him that more than one letter was specifically designed to do that. Unfortunately for the senders, he'd already been there, done that, and had no fucking intention of stopping anytime soon. Chuckling darkly, Treowe sinks into the high-back chair a little more and stares into the magical flames before him, enjoying the warmth they generate as caffeine circulates through his system.

Today was likely to be just as long as the last two days… but that was fine. Treowe could handle it.

-x-X-x-

 _Most sincerely_

 _Treowe Morton_

 _Heir of the Noble and Ancient House Morton_

As he finishes signing the latest letter of the benign pile of letters, the ones without hexes, curses, or malignant potions or alchemical powders laced into them, Treowe lets out a sigh and looks to see that he's doing quite well for the amount he started with. Truth be told, he hadn't expected so many to actually be legitimate correspondence that demanded his attention. The wizarding world continued to surprise him…

Still, the stack of 'good' letters was a lot less than it'd started out as now. Dipping his quill, the feather emerald green, back into his ink well, Treowe multitasks, gathering up more ink into the quill, while at the same time casting an ink-drying spell with his wand in his other hand. Then, he places both down for a moment, before folding the letter up.

Once it's properly folded, he reaches over for the stick of red sealing wax and the lit candle holder. Holding the rex wax over the flame, he dribbles a fair amount onto the center folds of the letter until eventually, there's a glob large enough for him to press his family ring, the ring of the Heir, into the hot wax to seal it. Of course, all of it is magical, so there is a brief flash as his seal is magically accepted and all that rot, but otherwise, it's no real different from a mundane wax sealing. Letters going to the Lord or Lady of another Noble House required the entire shebang, so to speak, all of that medieval letter etiquette that showed the wizarding world was still stuck in the dark ages in some ways.

Placing it in an envelope, Treowe seals that as well, writes the name of the intended recipient, and then adds it to the stack that he would be mailing out in the morning at a more reasonable hour. The cursed, hexed, or otherwise malicious letters would go to his father in the morning to be used as evidence of an attempt on the life of his heir. Afterwards, Leela would probably get to dissect them for all their secrets.

Likely, the family vault would grow in stature as fines and compensations were paid out to them in order to keep those involved from getting into legal trouble. But Treowe didn't doubt that some of the letters came from idiots who were too poor to pay off such criminal activity, and they at least would go to jail for their stupidity. It was a broken system, but one he was more than happy to abuse for his and his family's gain.

Grabbing the next benign letter, Treowe tears it open and begins to read. A quick overview of the content makes it obvious that it's just another general rant, of which more than half of the 'good' letters still are, for all that they're not hexed or cursed or potioned. Blah, blah, blah, Evil Slytherin, yada, yada, yada, not worthy to stand in the presence of the Girl-Who-Lived, whine, whine, whine. The author had obviously never met him or his family, not least of which because Treowe didn't even recognize the name. He wasn't all that surprised that they simply heard he was a Slytherin and decided he was a bad egg off of that alone.

With the letter's writer being unfamiliar to him, Treowe has to check a small book that contains a list of families known to his own in one way or another just to be sure, but that also reveals no relationship between the name and House Morton. The book is actually a linked tome, one of a few that are tied to the original, which was kept by his father and regularly updated with the names of their steadfast allies and the ever-shifting loyalties of the Houses that made up the Wizengamot.

Pleased to find nothing, Treowe tosses the letter onto an ash-filled plate and holds up his right hand with the thumb and middle finger pressed together. With a loud SNAP and a stare of intent down at the letter, the parchment bursts into flames and Treowe smiles in satisfaction. That was one of the easier spells to learn to do wandlessly as it turned out, though the flame was entirely magical and could not spread, so it was only useful in situations like this.

Still, it felt good to do, all the same, felt good to not have to rely on his wand for EVERYTHING. Reaching out, Treowe picks up his coffee cup to take a drink, only to find it empty. Frowning, he picks up the nearby silver coffee pot, only to find that empty as well. He considers calling Cuppa back for more for all of a moment, but by the old clock that the Room provides, it was well after midnight. Milk would be better for calming down before heading to bed.

And he did need to head to bed, soon at least. He would need his mind sharp in the morning, if the Headmaster finally decided to get off his ass, stop twiddling his thumbs, and actually see him. Sighing, Treowe stands up and stretches his arms over his head, which is also pulls to the side, feeling the satisfying pops in his neck as he does so. Then, he clears his throat.

"Floppy."

The House Elf that appears is not a Morton House Elf, but a member of the Hogwarts House Elf staff. It's alright though, no one seems to realize that Treowe and Hella have so thoroughly suborned the loyalty of the Hogwarts House Elves these last few months.

"Floppy, please bring me my trunk."

The House Elf bows, pops away, and then pops back in a moment later, leaving Treowe's trunk in front of him before leaving again. The next several minutes are spent changing out of his dragonhide and into silk pajamas. The House Ring he'd used all day is put back in its nice and safe spot within his secure, booby-trapped trunk. And when he said booby-trapped, he meant the thing could do a damn good impression of a mimic. With bear trap-like jaws laced with a paralytic, if somebody attempted to open it without the right combination, they were in for a harsh surprise.

Slytherins were a conniving lot, and a paranoid bunch because of it, and most of them knew that seeking an advantage over one another was done at their own risk. None had tried anything with Treowe since his first year, but after he escorted Hella to the Ball, he was expecting the stupider members of his House to try something.

Better to keep his trunk with him for the time being though, just in case. The best security was to keep it out of their minds altogether.

He's well into relaxing on a provided sofa in front of the same fireplace as before when the door to the Room of Requirement opens and closes. He knew from testing and experimentation that the Room was inaccessibly from the outside unless the current user within it allowed access or the magic and willpower of the one outside was much greater than the current user. There were all of two people in Hogwarts that could currently join Treowe in this room, as far as he knew, and he highly doubted that the Headmaster had figured out what Treowe and Hella had been doing quite yet.

Oh, he was sure Dumbledore, after decades in Hogwarts, likely KNEW about the Room of Requirement, but would he know that Treowe and Hella had been using it? Not yet… not yet. So that made the only other option…

"Hella."

He raises a milk-filled goblet in greeting, even as her shoes echo softly across the floor. Once she enters his field of view, his eyes follow her across the room. It seems she's foregone the Hogwarts uniform and robes for a set of more mundane apparel. A sweater that had probably been magically enlarged to cover up her sizable breasts, and a skirt that was higher in the back from covering her shapely derriere, showing off her stocking clad legs.

"Treowe! I um, I need to speak to you about something!"

She's as beautiful as ever, but he's not SO distracted by her looks that he doesn't notice her nervousness, her squirming, her fidgeting. That is, until her attention is drawn to the piles of letters on the table he was working at, distracting her immediately.

"Um… what's all this?"

Treowe just chuckles.

"Fan mail."

He shrugs and pauses as he drains his goblet before continuing on with a wry grin and a milk-mustache.

"All of this is the result of the two of us making the front page of the Daily Prophet for our decision to attend the Yule Ball together. I don't recommend touching any of them, to be perfectly honest. Most weren't sent with the best of intentions, and several are designed to do serious harm or humiliation to me… or anyone else who opens them, I suppose."

Hella looks horrified, but Treowe just waves a hand dismissively.

"Not to worry, House Elves of House Morton have already been through all of it. The truly malicious letters will be traced back to their senders, and they will pay for their poor choices, one way or the other."

Standing up, Treowe walks over to Hella and wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her close to keep her curiosity from getting the better of her as they both stare at the letters.

"That pile there is cursed, hexed, or otherwise malicious. My father will be using them to press charges against their senders for endangering his only heir, and then my eldest sister, Leela, will probably be picking them apart for the hell of it."

Then he points to the pile furthest away.

"And that pile there is made up of responses to various families that were polite enough to inquire after my relationship with you, or other related subjects. The ash-filled plate is filled with the remains of letters that were rather rude and deserved no such response."

Hella still seems surprised, which means she hasn't encountered any of this herself yet. Amused, and acting altogether too innocent, Treowe cocks his head to the side.

"I am sure you will have your own fan mail, after what happened at the Yule Ball."

He watches as his innocent comment causes her to flinch as she looks between him and his piles of letters. Watching the cogs in her head turning… as always, it makes him far too happy to see her figuring it out. Her gaze becomes calculating as she stares in consideration of the evidence presented before her. Treowe smiles proudly as she realizes that in two days, he'd probably received more letters than she had found gracing her in the entirety of her time at Hogwarts, and no doubt, she would soon start asking why.

"… Yeah, I got some from those concerned about me…"

She absently mumbles that out, without taking her eyes off the piles of letters. What goes unsaid is the fact that she didn't get any of the ones that he was having to deal with. Almost as if someone was screening her mail and had been for quite some time.

"So! What did you want to talk about?"

He couldn't help but be curious as to what subject was of more importance than their current situation. His tail, meanwhile, is acting off of his subconscious wants and desires, because its slowly stroking up her legs at this point, displaying both his curiosity and his usual desire to have sex. Hella shudders from the sensation, while rapidly switching her attention between the piles of letters, Treowe's erection, only thinly veiled by his tenting silk pajamas, and looking off into the distance, probably thinking about what she originally came to speak with him about in the first place.

After a long moment of contemplation, Hella finally lets it out with a shuddering breath.

"H-Hermione knows about us, Treowe. She… she figured it out yesterday. Needless to say, she was rather concerned about our… dalliances."

Treowe's tail goes still and moves away from stroking at her legs. That WAS serious, given what he knew about Hermione, both through metaknowledge and observing the brunette know-it-all these past four years. Leading Hella over to the couch he'd been on, he sits her down beside him, correctly deducing that this was not a conversation they should be having standing up.

That Hermione had figured it out wasn't all that surprising. She was the most brilliant witch of their generation, after all. In fact, she probably would have caught on earlier, if she hadn't been distracted by Viktor Krum for these past few months. Still…

"Given that she didn't drag you to the nearest staff member, or show up in the Hospital Wing in the hours I was waiting there… I take it you dealt with the matter?"

Hella bites her lower lip, and then ducks her head, blushing. Treowe raises an eyebrow at that. He hadn't meant anything untoward, but now he was beginning to wonder.

"W-Well… we were in the shower together."

Oh, this should be good.

"She'd fucked Krum, you see. And I… I was still giddy from our night together, so I didn't try to hide how happy I was for her. I thought she and I could celebrate, you know, as friends? She'd discovered the joy and pleasure of sex, and I figured she was starting down the road of finally being able to know about us. I didn't MEAN for her to realize what you and I have been up to quite so early though."

Hella pauses, and grimaces.

"… She said something was wrong with us. She wasn't happy with herself for giving it up to Krum, I guess, because she turned that self-loathing onto our relationship, as if WE were doing something wrong. She said… she said that we needed to get help, that we had to go to one of the Professors to figure out what was wrong with us. Like there was anything WRONG with our love!"

The beautiful young witch's voice starts out low and calm, but easily shifts to loud and harsh as she continues explaining the situation. Treowe runs a hand down her back comfortingly, his tail hooking around her waist as he feels her entire body shaking and trembling. Turning towards him suddenly, Hella has never looking more terrifying. But Treowe is not afraid. Even in the face of her glowing green eyes, brimming with both power and tears, he's not afraid.

"I slammed her up against the wall of the shower, Treowe! My nails grew without me even needing to think about it, pinning her in place. I… I gave her a piece of my mind, and I told her what I thought about the adults in authority over us, and what they've done with our ill-placed trust over the years! I don't regret a word of it, I meant all of it… but t-then I made her swear not to betray me! I demanded that she give me her loyalty."

Hella shudders.

"And then she did, and I got on my knees and tasted her, Treowe. I… she was so sweet."

Her anger morphs to confusion, and she buries her face in his shoulder as he shifts their position to lean back against the arm of the couch, pulling her up onto his chest, positioning her to straddle his stomach and avoid his erection, at least for the moment. She may have said more, but the words are unclear and unintelligible as she keeps starting and stopping, clearly too emotional at the moment to voice what she wants to voice.

Still, he was pretty sure he heard such things as 'Hermione', 'friend', 'how could I', and 'what's wrong with me' throughout the sobbing session. Or something to that nature.

"Hella…"

He keeps his voice quiet and soft as he speaks, one hand tied up in her long, lashing locks and the other stroking her back even now.

"Remember the ritual we performed on Samhain?"

His question is met with a slow nod, as her green eyes peer up at him. He smiles at her as he explains.

"You demanded that you would be loved, freed of those who would control you, and never again be fooled by those that didn't care. Do you remember saying those words?"

"I-I do…"

"Well, it sounds to me like Hermione may have tripped over one of those caveats, now didn't she? And that ritual wasn't just for show, Hella. That ritual had POWER behind it. Power given by you sacrificing your virginity for the cause."

Her red face and teary eyes are staring at him now in disbelief, but also growing understanding.

"We are wizards and witches, Hella. Magical beings. Unlike the muggles, who clench their fists, tremble with rage, or do other various things to try and hold back their anger… our magic responds to our emotions and lashes out. Uncontrolled bursts of power for those who have so much of it never truly go away… we just get better at controlling our magic and our emotions. But it takes time, lots of time, and the more powerful one's magic is, the longer it takes."

His explanations seems to be doing the trick of calming her down. By this point, Hella is looking at him with an interesting intensity, staring at him, focusing on his moving lips and his voice.

"However, during puberty, our emotions are already all over the place. For wizard and witches, it's especially bad as the more powerful your magic is, the worse you are affected by the changes happening in your body. My sister Shelbie could explain this better I suppose, but essentially… it's not your fault, Hella."

Hella bites her lower lip harder.

"I… I still feel bad for how I treated Hermione. I… I forced myself on my best friend."

Even as Hella laments her actions, Treowe finds himself visualizing his lover dominating the brunette witch, and truth be told, the imagery is exceptionally hot. His erection, already nice and hard, twitches as Hella wallows in her guilt, squirming atop him all the while. She had plenty of cushion in her very spankable bum… and suddenly, Treowe had an idea that they could both enjoy.

"Well, if you feel that bad about it… perhaps my naughty little witch deserves to be punished?"

Hella's eyes flicker up to his, widening in surprise at his sudden dark, aggressive tone. But when she sees the look on his face, she goes bright red… and then smiles slightly and nods.

"M-Maybe she does… how… how would one go about punishing such a n-naughty witch, Treowe?"

Treowe growls as he lifts Hella up off of him, putting her on her feet and standing up as well.

"For one… she should only refer to the one carrying out the punishment as 'Sir' for the duration of said punishment. It's all about respect, after all."

Hella licks her lips.

"Yes… sir."

Smiling, Treowe grabs at Hella's sweater, and pulls it up over her head. She makes no effort to resist him, even actively helping him until eventually, her breasts pop free of their confines and bounce and jiggle as Treowe circles around the now topless girl. Left in only her skirt, Hella doesn't do anything as he pulls her arms behind her back and uses her sweater to tie them off, nice and securely.

Nor does she fight back as he sits back down on the couch and draws her down onto his lap, laying her across it stomach first. With his erection poking at her tummy and his tail slipping up to play around with her breasts as they hang off the side of his leg, Hella is soon mewling and wiggling that fat tushie of hers in the air right before his eyes.

SMACK!

"Ah!"

The wiggling is momentarily paused when Treowe brings his hand down hard on her ass, digging his hand in to grip and squeeze at her butt cheek as the other jiggles and vibrates from the blow. The pulses of his palm reverberate across Hella's voluptuous, beautiful body, and Treowe chuckles as Hella moans from the groping she's receiving.

SMACK!

Then she's squealing again, as the groping becomes a spanking once more. That's how Treowe goes about punishing her, interchanging smacking her ass cheeks red, with groping and squeezing and kneading her bubble butt in his large hand. His fingers slip down between her thighs every once in a while, as well, and he can feel how wet she is, her cunt positively dripping the more and more he reddens her bottom.

"Are you sorry, Hella? Are you sorry for what you did to Hermione?"

She's moaning when the words reach her ears. Cutting herself off with a shuddering breath, Hella thinks for a moment… and then shakes her head.

"N-No…"

Treowe just grins.

SMACK!

He continues spanking her, asking every once in a while, if she's sorry for what she did to Hermione. But she isn't. She well and truly isn't. And that's okay. They both understand that in the end, neither of them truly blame Hella for what she did. She controlled Hermione, but it was for them. It was for their love. If Hermione had been allowed to go to the Professors, ANY of the Professors, shit would have hit the fan so damn fast…

Regardless, Hella wanted to be punished for her actions all the same, and Treowe was happy to be doing the punishing. Once every last inch of Hella's fat pale ass is nice and red, and increasingly sensitive to the touch, he finally stops spanking her. He doesn't stop groping her though, even as he manhandles her into position.

Facing away from him, Hella is left to sit on his cock, after a fashion. He rubs his tip against her pussy lips, but never lets herself fully impale her cunt on his member. Instead, he hot dogs her slit, sliding his length back and forth, getting her juices all over his shaft.

"O-Oh, Treowe… please, Treowe…"

"Excuse me?"

SMACK!

"S-Sir! I mean Sir! Please sir… give it to me! Punish me, sir!"

Treowe just chuckles at Hella's insistence. She's trying to push down onto his cock, but all she's really managing in the face of his obstinance is gyrating across the tip and top of his member, slathering it with even more natural lubricant as he keeps her from descending onto it like she so desperately wants.

"Do you really think that would be a punishment, Hella? Me fucking your tight, sopping wet pussy? You want it so badly… how could that ever teach you a lesson?"

The witch stops at that and looks at him with wide eyes before blushing and ducking her head.

"… Y-You're right, sir. Sorry, sir…"

Treowe smirks, and slips Hella forward a little bit, lifting her legs up by her thighs. This causes his well-lubricated cockhead to slide off of her cunt and back between her ass cheeks. Hella's eyes go wide as he fits himself in between her sensitive buttocks, pressing against her back door.

"O-Oh… OOOOOH!"

As Treowe drops Hella down onto his cock, impaling her anus with his length and spreads her legs wide across his own legs, the witch shrieks at the sudden intrusion, and her eyes nearly roll back in her head on the spot, right then and there. He's most definitely taking her most sensitive hole in this moment, and it's clear that, despite herself, Hella was NOT expecting it.

"Keep yourself tight back there, or I'll have to punish you some more, Hella~"

His orders are immediately followed as she clenches down around his length, but Treowe wastes no time in testing her resolve and her determination, his hands sliding up to grip her breasts while his tail circles around and plays with her pussy. Then, he starts to thrust upwards, bouncing her up and down on his cock as she moans throatily, taking every last inch of his member into her bowels and loving every last bit of it.

The pussy juices she's coated his dick in make the passage easy enough, nice and slick for both of them. This isn't the first time Treowe has taken her anally either, so it's not like Hella is completely blindsided by the concept. No, she enjoys it up the ass just as much as she enjoys it in her cunt, and in the end, it really isn't that much of a punishment as he bounces her and gropes her tits, kneading and molesting them nonstop.

She cums again and again along his tail, once he inserts it into her pussy. Her eyes roll back in her head and her anal muscles clench and squeeze along his shaft from the sensations coursing through her. All while Treowe is having the time of life, thoroughly enjoying splitting her open, his cock nestled in between her butt cheeks and buried in Hella's anus.

That doesn't mean he's not thinking about everything else though. He fully believes his explanation to Hella. It sounds like the ritual that he had her take part in really has affected her. Truth be told, Treowe has been waiting for more overt effects for a while now, but this is the first REAL sign that Hella's magic is responding to her desires, spoken as they were from the heart.

Hermione wasn't going to be able to get in the way, not and keep her relationship with Hella. The only thing he had to decide now was what the hell he was going to do next. Pretending to punish Hella so that they could both get off on the ensuing roleplay was all well and good, but the situation with Hermione did still need to be dealt with.

Should he be pushing Hella away from the brunette know-it-all? Should he be pushing her towards her instead? Did he tell Hella to keep dominating Hermione, or did he try to steer things towards a more equal sexual relationship between the two of them? Decisions, decisions… and they would all have to be made soon.

But not too soon. For now, Treowe could focus on giving Hella the dicking she deserved, even as she came again and again. Eventually, it proves to be too much for his cock, and he fills her bowels with his seed… but he's not done yet, and neither is she. Begging for more, moaning wantonly, Hella happily takes his cock in her cunt as well, and then she sucks it clean after he's done with that hole too.

It's enjoyable, but more than that, it centers them both, Treowe feels. It centers them, and calms them, and they fall asleep in one another's arms, happy and content, secure in their knowledge that this, what they have between them, is RIGHT in a way that nothing else is. They won't let anyone take that away from them. Not Hermione, not Dumbledore, not Snape… not anyone.

They'll fight for each other, and really, that's all either of them needs to know.

 **-x-X-x-**

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 **Thanks for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

_"I don't recommend touching any of them, to be perfectly honest. Most weren't sent with the best of intentions, and several are designed to do serious harm or humiliation to me… or anyone else who opens them, I suppose."_

Treowe's words from just the night before replay over and over again in Hella's mind as she stands there in Hogwarts' Hospital Wing, staring down at the unconscious form of her best friend, covered in boils and sores as it currently is. Most of Hermione is hidden beneath the bedsheets that she's swaddled in, but her face is not, and that alone is enough to tell Hella how bad things are.

Not that she's the only one in the Hospital Wing, laid up unconscious in a bed. There have to be at least half a dozen students or so that are all in a similar state to Hermione right now. The outcome is actually rather similar to what Hella witnessed early on in her days at Hogwarts when one of Neville's cauldrons had exploded, before everyone who took Potions with the poor boy had learned to watch for the warning sides and get as far away as they fucking could before it all blew up.

… It could just have easily been Hella in one of these beds too. It was ironic to consider why exactly she'd managed to avoid being caught up in it. In the end, the only reason she wasn't in a hospital bed herself, covered in boils and sores, had actually been because she couldn't quite sit comfortably on the bench at House Gryffindor's Great Hall Table that morning. Her ass had still been sensitive from the night before, and she'd kept willing about, trying to get comfortable.

Remembering WHY she was wiggling around had kept her body heated and her thoughts at a low simmer. This had been what led to her barely picking at her breakfast, feeling somewhat self-conscious and thus studying everyone else around her rather than digging in and focusing on her sustenance, as she probably should have been.

Even still, that lack of focus had been what led to Hella noticing the multiple owls delivering letters to Hermione in one big pile. Hermione, who aside from letters delivered by her parents (which always looked much more 'muggle-like', probably got even less letters than Hella herself. It had hit the young woman a moment before everything went down, what was wrong with the scene.

She'd tried to warn Hermione, even as she drew her wand, but unlike Hella, Hermione was more focused on her own personal pursuits. Namely, that morning it had been a new book she was reading while she ate, and she'd barely paid any attention as she began opening the first letter. Hella's warning had fallen on deaf ears and all the young woman had truly managed to do was draw her wand and shield herself and those directly behind her as the letter Hermione had unthinkingly open exploded in her hands.

Those in the vicinity of the brunette witch, save for Hella and anyone situated at the table in just the right way to be behind her reactive shield spell had been immediately covered in boils and sores, developing the physical affliction within mere moments of the letter exploding. Hermione had let out a bloodcurdling scream, but she wasn't the only one by far, and as she and the others hit by the contaminated letter had begin scratching and tearing their boils and sores open, Hella had had to stand up and stun her own best friend, along with every other witch and wizard in the vicinity.

McGonagall had awarded her points for keeping calm and collected and thinking quickly, but that did very, very little to comfort Hella, who had spent every moment since that fateful morning meal in the Hospital Wing, at Hermione's side.

"Don't you worry now dearie. We'll have them all fixed up in just a few hours, and everything will be right as rain. Professor Snape and his advanced students have been busy making some potions to restock my cabinets!"

Madam Pomfrey's voice cuts through her thoughts, but Hella barely gives the older witch anything more than a nod and a slight, forced smile of understanding. It's all well and good to say that 'everything will be right as rain', but that doesn't change the fact that it'd happened in the first place. Being able to fix up a condition that probably would have been a lifelong affliction among muggles didn't get them any closer to finding out who'd done it, nor did it stop it from potentially happening again.

"Ah! There they are now!"

Hella does look over at that, watching as two Seventh Year Girls, a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw each, hand over the four potion cases filled to the brim with clinking glass vials. While they speak with Pomfrey in low voices, Hella realizes she's probably overstaying her welcome, and honestly, she probably needs to get something to eat. Standing up and stretching, her body reminds her that she hadn't had much to eat even at breakfast, and she's been sitting beside Hermione's bed all this time, waiting for… something or other to happen.

Letting out a low sigh, Hella begins to make her way out of the Hospital Wing, knowing that she's really done all she can, and at this point, with the potions having arrived, Hermione's recovery really is only a few more hours away. No point in harming her own health waiting for the inevitable to come around. Though, as she passes by Madam Pomfrey and the Seventh Year Girls, she is a bit surprised at how they greet her.

"Good day to you, Heiress Potter…"

"Greetings, Heiress Potter!"

It's the Slytherin girl that initiates conversation, the witch quiet and not even making eye contact, but acknowledging Hella's presence all the same, and by title at that. The Ravenclaw almost seems as startled as Hella is, but she's just as quick to follow up and follow the lead of her friend. Taken aback, but only for a moment before Treowe's training kicks in, Hella swallows and turns a bit to face them both, acknowledging the two with a smile and a nod.

"Greetings. Thank you, both of you, for all the hard work you put into producing these needed potions. You must both be very talented."

There are blushes at that, and some murmured 'thank yous' in response, but not seeing anything else forthcoming from the two, Hella leaves the Hospital Wing and them behind at that, letting out a low sigh as she does so, her posture and her shoulders slumping the moment she's away from their eyes. Bathroom first, then it was time to find food, probably from the kitchen.

Finding a restroom isn't difficult, though as always, Hella finds herself thanking Merlin that Moaning Myrtle didn't tend to wander from bathroom to bathroom. To be fair, if the ghost wasn't confined to the bathroom she'd died in, Hella imagined that even Dumbledore would have had to eventually have her removed. Only the fact that Myrtle very rarely left her bathroom allowed the aged Headmaster to get away with leaving her be and ignoring the problem while giving that particular girl's bathroom up for a lost cause.

Of course, one would think that finding out that particular bathroom was in fact the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets in Hella's Second Year would see SOMETHING done about it, but if it was, it happened over the summer or the holidays or something, because Hella had never heard anything about it. As far as she was aware, the Basilisk was still dead down there in Slytherin's Chamber, decaying in mass.

Letting out a sigh as she sits down, Hella leans back and relaxes for a moment. The quietness of the toilets reminds her of some of the better moments when she was younger. Girl's restrooms had been a sanctuary for Hella for a long time, starting all the way back in Primary School. Dudley would never be caught dead entering the girl's restroom, not even to torment his 'freak' cousin.

Of course, in the midst of this moment of nostalgia and comfort, the door to the girl's bathroom slams open hard enough that Hella finds herself instinctively wedding her legs up against the stall door to hide them and her presence in the bathroom from view. The moment that she hears somewhat familiar voices, she finds herself thankful for that instinct.

"Damn know-it-all mudblood!"

Hella flinches, especially because she does in fact recognize the voice. It's the Slytherin Seventh Year from before, though a lot less demure and a lot less quiet than when she'd been speaking to 'Heiress Potter'. The answering gasp to her bitter bigotry tells Hella that the Slytherin isn't alone. In response, the Slytherin witch just scoffs.

"Oh please, we're alone, don't act like you're actually offended. You feel the same way, and you know it."

There's a pause, and Hella bites her lower lip as she presses her hands against the walls of her stall.

"… Fine, you're right. Fucking Granger, I swear to Merlin, I hate that bitch."

Until that moment, when the Ravenclaw's voice also hit Hella's ears along with the words she was speaking, the young witch had almost been able to convince herself that they weren't talking about Hermione. It still would have been horrible of course, knowing that they were bigots, talking about some poor muggleborn… but no, they were most definitely talking about Hermione, ranting about her, from the sound of it.

"She finally got what she deserved, after all these years, but then the stupid cunt has to go and take half a dozen other students down with her, and more importantly, ruin our weekends by forcing us to toil over some stupid cauldrons for hours on end!"

"Ugh, tell me about it. We're going to have to tell Professor Snape that Pomfrey used all of the salves we already made. Just because Granger couldn't keep her legs shut and consider the ramifications of shooting above her station. Honestly, snatching up an International Quidditch Star and daring to go to the Yule Ball as his date? The girl has no sense of tact…"

The Slytherin witch scoffs at that.

"She should have been a Ravenclaw. Then you lot would have taught her how to be a quiet little mudblood bookworm who just might have been able to keep her head down and not make such a mess of everything."

"I really don't like that word, you know it's not as… acceptable to say it anymore, right? Still, you're not wrong. If she'd been a Ravenclaw, we would have taught her how the world worked fairly early on. But no, she had to be a Gryffindor. Do you know how insulting it is to have them call her the Smartest Witch of her Generation while she's not even in our House? She's a bloody Gryffindor, Brave and Brainless. The Ravenclaws in her year get so much shit for not properly showing her up. But even worse than that… she somehow got her claws into Heiress Potter."

"Pah! The filthy mudblood isn't smart enough to have done anything of the sort. Potter made that decision herself, taking Granger in, coddling her, befriending her. The cunt should have been dragged into an empty classroom in her first year and taught not to stand out and show up every Pureblood in her year, but by the time anyone realized it was NECESSARY, Potter had already saved her from the troll, and they were thick as thieves. If only that troll had finished the job…"

Hella finds that she's trembling now, but they're not done yet. The Ravenclaw pipes up again, and this time her voice is actually a little chipper. At least at first.

"Well! At least we only have to put up with her for the rest of this year. Everyone in her year is stuck with her for the next four. Can you imagine how that'll be? Hell, can you imagine how it already is for all of those witches and wizards of pureblood who have to go home and explain to their families how a muggleborn with no previous magical education is constantly surpassing them in every subject?"

"Hah, no, I can't imagine that for a moment. Merlin that sounds awful. At least… at least no one will ever have to see her again once she graduates. No one in the wizarding world is going to hire an uppity mudblood like her who doesn't know her place. She'll either figure that out quick and go back to the muggles with her wand snapped and her memory obliviated, where she fucking belongs, or she'll end up turning tricks down some alley in Knockturn Alley until a wizard gets tired of her constant backtalk and finishes it. Either way, she's not going anywhere but down after Hogwarts."

There's a pause, and then the Ravenclaw speaks once more.

"But what about Heiress Potter? What if she hires Granger on or something?"

The Slytherin seems to consider this for a moment before answering.

"… I don't think that's likely. Sure, Potter still has to put on appearances, but look at what happened this morning. Did she stop the mudblood from fucking herself? Nope, she looked after her own self first and foremost. You think if she was capable of shielding herself, she wasn't capable of stopping all of it?"

"Wait, really? You think she LET that happen to Granger?"

"Heh, maybe. All I'm really saying is, now that Heir Morton has his hands on the reins, I do believe Heiress Potter is learning the difference between scum like the know-it-all, and people like us. Did you not hear her, earlier? She recognizes talent and skill in those who are worthy of recognition, namely you and I. So long as Heir Morton continues to guide her along properly, I think she'll end up just fine. Even if she IS a half-blood."

"… I suppose you're right. And I suppose we've procrastinated enough in here. We should probably go talk to Professor Snape now, shouldn't we?"

The Slytherin witch groans.

"We should… but that doesn't mean I'm looking forward to it."

"Heh, what's wrong? He's your Head of House, isn't he? Why, just earlier, you were calling him Severus…"

"I need his recommendation to get an apprenticeship with a good Potions Master, you know that. Just as you know the things, I have to do to GET that recommendation are all sacrifices I make for the betterment of my future. It doesn't mean I'm happy about it."

"Yeah, yeah. I know…"

The conversation trails off as the two Seventh Years leave the girl's bathroom behind. That last bit, some part of Hella does acknowledge and file away in the back of her mind, but truth be told, it's hard for her to focus on that when everything before it has her undivided attention. It's several long moments of silence reigning in the bathroom before Hella slowly lowers her legs back down to the floor and stops pressing into the walls with her palms. Perhaps that isn't for the best though, because her hands immediately curl into white-knuckled fists as a result, and her entire body is trembling with anger.

Still… it was good to know. If they'd known she was here, they would have been all about the respect and trying to cozy up to her. Instead, in what they believed was her absence, they'd instead shown their true colors. Though, all those things they'd said about Hermione's future, about what might happen to her just because of the circumstances of her birth… Hella didn't want to believe them true. Surely, they had to have been embellishing. It was simply the hopes of a pair of petty girls who would never be as intelligent as Hermione… right?

As Hella slowly makes her way out of the bathroom and back towards the Hospital Wing, her thoughts are occupied with anger and worry. She would need to speak with Treowe about all of this, since he continued to be her most reliable source of information and had never stopped trying to fill in the gaps that existed in her education. Though, there was what those girls, particularly the Slytherin, had said about her and him.

… No! She would not let some petty bitches poison her love for Treowe. They thought what they wanted to think, what he wanted them to think. His feelings for her were real, and he did not have the same values, the same beliefs that those hateful pureblood bigots did. Treowe was different, and she loved him for it. She wouldn't allow that to change, just because of a couple of older witches being awful.

Still, Hella is quite surprised when she walks back into the Hospital Wing, only to find that Viktor Krum has shown up in her absence and taken her place at Hermione's bedside. When he looks up and sees her, Krum pales slightly, no doubt remembering how she'd expressed concerns for Hermione's safety and their relationship together. And now here Hermione was, afflicted with boils and sores, laid up in a hospital bed… and it was at least partially because of him, because of her ties to him.

Standing, Viktor walks over to her, his head held high and his back straight despite his clear nervousness as he greets Hella.

"Heiress Potter…"

For a moment, Hella pauses. But in the end, she really already knows how she intends to respond.

"Heir Krum. You being here in my absence says far more about the true depths of your feelings for Hermione, for my best friend, than mere words ever could. Alas, I find myself rather famished with the day's events weighing so heavily, and tired from the stress of this morning. I am happy to know that someone I can trust will keep watch over her in my absence and be there for her when she wakes up. I shall take my leave."

Viktor seems caught off guard by her approval, no doubt expecting her to say or do something in regard to carrying out her previous warnings on what would happen if he hurt Hermione. But that was the thing, he hadn't truly hurt Hermione, and she knew she couldn't let her bubbling anger get the better of her here and cause her to lash out at the wrong person.

"… Of course, Heiress Potter. I was shocked when I heard the news, and ashamed that I was not here sooner. I will keep her company until she is released from the Madam's care, or until you return."

As Viktor returns to Hermione's bedside, Hella's feet carry her out of the Hospital Wing once more, and off towards the Seventh Floor and the Room of Requirement. Treowe would be able to help her get her head on straight and figure out what was going on here. And he'd be able to give her a more accurate picture of what life in the wizarding world would be like after Hogwarts.

As far as Hella had known before today, from how Hermione had always previously spoken about it, there should have been no limit to the job openings that someone with the muggleborn's grades could seek after graduating from Hogwarts. And yet, the more Hella thought about it, the more she could believe those witches were being honest. Brutally and bluntly honest, but honest, nonetheless. Every year she spent in the wizarding world, it felt like she unearthed more dark secrets hidden beneath the wonders and brilliance of magic…

-x-X-x-

She knows the instant she asks that this isn't the kind of conversation she'll enjoy the punchline to one bit. This discussion with Treowe was going to be one that would likely alter her view of the magical world yet again. Given the way he immediately called a stop to what he'd been doing, which had been dueling with one of the castle's suits of armors using swords in mock combat, Hella could tell that she wasn't going to like this, not one bit.

"… Have you had lunch yet?"

Hella's stomach had chosen that moment to gurgle and growl and protest the fact that no, she had not had lunch yet. Food had followed, good, hearty food that had made up for missing out on most of breakfast and also all of lunch. Hella and Treowe had eaten in silence, as this wasn't the type of conversation to be had on either an empty stomach or during a meal.

In the end, she finds herself sat snugly in a high back chair in front of the Room of Requirement's conjured fireplace, comfortably full of food and drink as Treowe sits across from her in a similar chair, dressed only in loose robes. Hella recognizes when her beloved is gathering his thoughts quite well, so she remains quiet and waits as he stares into the fire, sipping from his goblet.

"… To understand the situation as it currently is, one needs some background to explain why things are the way they are, and how they got here. This country has suffered through three wars in the last hundred years… well, two wars and a terror campaign. Regardless, the magical world has taken casualties. Various Ancient and Noble Houses have been wiped out entirely, if not entirely reduced in power, members, and thus status in their efforts to protect this country."

Hella finds herself listening on with rapt attention, not only because of Treowe's chocolatey deep voice, but also because this sounded like the first history lesson, she'd ever gotten that might actually be INTERESTING.

"Such casualties are expected in war, of course. And given time, most of these families very well might have recovered, and perhaps even grown stronger for it, if the benefits for what they gave up could have come to fruition. But that's just it. There wasn't enough time between the Great War, World War Two, or the Dark Lord's Campaign for those families that were more inclined to stand up and fight to recover. And you better bet that when Voldemort first rose to power, he targeted those families who had distinguished themselves in conflict, who had proven themselves strong. They were either recruited… or destroyed."

Treowe pauses again for another breath, and to take a drink as he stares off into the distance.

"What this left behind were those that were unwilling to take part. Our government, our Ministry of Magic… it became filled with those who were incapable and unwilling of standing up for anything at all. There were entire families, ancient bloodlines, magical knowledge and talents, as well as priceless artifacts during all of these conflicts, but especially during Voldemort's first rise. And those who had seized power while certain families were off to war stood by and let it happen, because it solidified their own power, and removed their enemies."

A macabre smile spreads across Treowe's face and his eyes flicker to Hella's forehead.

"Historians teach that we managed to save our way of life after one miraculous event that saw the Dark Lord laid low."

She shivers and resists the urge to reach up and touch her scar, even as Treowe continues on a moment later without truly diving into the subject that had left her an orphan.

"On the surface, we did win. But at the same time, before Voldemort's defeat, we lost a great many moral and upstanding member of our society. Meanwhile, the corrupt and treacherous cowards continued to weasel their way into positions of power, as they have been for over a decade now. History is written by the victors, Hella, and certain things are always lost to the annals of time. Wizards and witches alike tend to prefer to gloss over the details of events that they would prefer not to think about."

Treowe's smile widens slightly.

"You won't find any account in the 'modern' history books of what there was before we were reduced to Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley. The larger network of magical alleys, with a much wider marketplace is gone now, never to return, and because they don't want to be reminded of that, the wizards and witches don't tell their children what they lost. And yet, Diagon and Knockturn are all that remain of our community, after the bombs fell during the London Blitz. Such explosive devices have never cared about Notice-Me-Not Charms or Muggle-Repelling Wards, after all."

Hella's eyes widen at that tidbit of knowledge, and Treowe tips his head in acknowledgment of her shocked realization that the magical world simply wasn't as protected as they liked to claim.

"So… yes, the old Pureblood Families have reason to fear and hate muggles for the atrocities that have taken place this last century. Of course, their ignorance of the threat and their constant poking of the sleeping dragon is unconscionable. Regardless, this prejudice leaks over from the muggles to muggleborn witches and wizards, who come into our world and bring with them their ideas, their morals, their ethics, their culture. Purebloods don't like this, by and large. They never have, and they never will."

Treowe lets out a sigh.

"Miss Granger in particular is both the best and the worst of what muggleborns can offer to our society. I know from my expanded self-education that she is easily of a genius-level intellect, and likely in the top percentile for not just the magical world, but the entire world's population. She truly is the brightest and best witch of our generation."

Hella's memory flashes back to her Godfather saying pretty much the same thing last year, and she finds herself smiling slightly on her best friend' behalf and nodding along with what Treowe is saying. However, the young man is not done.

"Unfortunately, bigotry is alive and well in the wizarding world, and those in power, those in charge, have been conditioned over the decades to view anyone who tries to stand up and take charge as a threat to them. So, when a muggleborn like Hermione graduates from Hogwarts full of hope and excitement, they quickly and harshly learn that their education and achievements don't matter. They learn that all that truly matters, at least when it comes to them, is their blood status."

Treowe spreads his hands wide, his face now solemn.

"The Pureblood bigots are in control, and their sons and daughters, their nieces and nephews, their cousins… they come first."

Hearing it straight from Treowe's mouth, Hella can't help but stand up, snarling.

"That's ridiculous! They can't possibly get away with that sort of nepotism! Surely there would be laws against it… s-surely someone like Dumbledore wouldn't allow such a thing to happen, r-right?"

Treowe allows her to run herself out of steam, sitting calmly until she's quiet again. Then, he speaks.

"Look to the Weasleys, Hella, and you need look no further. Arthur Weasley is the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Department at the Ministry of Magic. How many muggleborns do you think sit as Heads of Ministry Departments over there? How many half-bloods?"

She has a sinking feeling she knows what the answer to that is.

"A-A few, I'm sure. Perhaps not as many there should be for equal representation, but there's a handful at least, right?"

"There's one half-blood, Hella. No muggleborns. The only half-blood working as a Department Head in the Ministry of Magic is the Head of Goblin Liaison. Do you know why? It's because every previous Head of Goblin Liaison, all of them Purebloods, has ended up dead, because the Head of that Department just so happens to be one of the only wizards or witches beholden to the archaic laws that those money-grubbing little bastards hold to. Part of their last treaty with us. Every few years, they kill the Head of Goblin Liaison on some minor technicality, mostly just for fun and to remind us that we can't do jack shit about it, because they have our fucking gold."

Hella's mouth opens and closes a few times like a goldfish, and Treowe just offers her a sad smile.

"They gave him that position because they wanted to get rid of him, and that was the easiest way. But, let's go back to Arthur Weasley really quickly. He's the Head of a Department based around the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts, yes? Now, here's a very simple question for you. How much more than him does a young muggleborn like Miss Granger know about muggle devices? How much more do YOU know, compared to what you've seen of Arthur Weasley?"

Hella sits back in her chair with a whump of air, her eyes wide as she stares at Treowe, her mind immediately taken back to her second year. From the car that Arthur Weasley had been illegally enchanting, to him asking her what the purpose of a fucking rubber duck was. There's several moments of silence between her and Treowe as Hella is forced to acknowledge the ridiculousness inherent in the system. If she and Hermione could easily trump Arthur at his job, how much could an adult muggleborn or half-blood do, with a foot in both worlds and a full Hogwarts Education behind them?

"It's good that you've taken steps to keep Miss Granger close to your side when things don't work out with Krum. If you don't intend to hire her yourself in some role, she will need the support of the Potter name just to get anywhere in our society."

Still quiet, Hella finds herself processing everything, even as Treowe drinks from his goblet before speaking again.

"Hermione isn't the first to be proclaimed the brightest and best witch of her generation, you know. Do you know who the last was?"

Hella blinks, wondering where he's going with this, even as she shakes her head in the negative.

"Lily Potter nee Evans, your mother."

Green eyes widen, and Hella's heart soars with pride… for all of a moment.

"Do you know what the history books have to say about her, Hella? Do you know how they describe the last 'brightest and best witch of her generation'?"

She opens her mouth, but no words come. Treowe looks altogether apologetic, even as he shakes his head.

"I believe that she had far more to do with Voldemort's defeat then you did, dear Hella, I'll say that now. So, I apologize when I repeat what it is that our histories label your mother as, the titles they give her, the accolades they lay upon her… or, as the case may be, the lack thereof."

Straightening up, Treowe gathers himself and speaks in a monotone as he recites knowledge he almost certainly read from a book.

"Lily Potter nee Evans. Wife of Lord James Potter. Mother of the Girl-Who-Lived, Hella Potter."

He falls silent after that, and for a moment Hella doesn't understand. But then, as the silence continues to drag on, as he simply remains quiet and stares at her meaningfully… she does. She gets it, and the tears begin to stream down her face as she tries and fails to hold in the sobs. Treowe pulls her into a hug, and then sits back down in the chair holding her in his lap.

She cries and cries and cries some more, until eventually, Treowe summons a bath in the Room of Requirement and moves them towards it. Her crying settles down as he strips them both nude, and by the time he's drawing her into the bath with him, Hella lunges forward, kissing her lover ferociously, their lips smashing together and their tongues intertwining as she gets increasingly handsy.

She needs it though. She needs the intimacy, she needs the contact, she needs the affection. It doesn't take long to reach down between them and fit him at her entrance. Hella impales herself on Treowe's cock, and from the very beginning, rides him raw. She needs something more than just lovemaking, she needs something more than just gentle sex. She needs to get these emotions out of her system, all of this anger, all of this rage.

What follows is definitely rougher sex than Treowe intended, but he never once pulls away from her. Instead, he accepts her for who she is, holding her close as she slams herself down onto his cock again and again, as if forcing herself to take every last inch of his member up into her cunt will let her think about that, rather than about what's happening around her right now, about how fucked up the world is, this world that she finds herself wading through without any sort of knowledge.

But she has Treowe, at least. She has Treowe, and as Hella clings to him and he holds her close and she rides him as best she can, she knows one thing. She's never letting go.

 **-x-X-x-**

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	10. Chapter 10

Albus Dumbledore was not in a very good mood. That wasn't to say he was in a bad mood, or even particularly angry. He was far too old to truly get angry these days, and he'd learned a long time ago that he was far too powerful of a wizard to be letting his anger control him. He'd learned that lesson the hard way. Even still, Dumbledore's mood was far less pleasant than he usually had on an average day, especially now, during the winter holidays.

It could mostly be attributed to the fact that he'd been awoken far earlier than he usually preferred to rise at this time of years by a Howler going off in his private rooms off the side of the Headmaster's Office. The Howler, from Lord Morton himself, Albus had been able to place after a few moments of listening to it, had gone on for several minutes as he'd scrambled about, disoriented and attempting to find his wand, which had been knocked to the floor by the sudden loud noise.

Fawkes had been no help, the bright flash of him flaming out of the bedroom as the Howler spooked him as well further ruining Dumbledore's sight, and leaving him to deal with the screaming, shouting magical letter alone. By the time he finally managed to locate his wand and silence the general area, the Howler had all but finished its messages anyways, and it'd torn itself to pieces some time later.

Such excitement brought to bear on his aging heart meant that he would never be able to return to sleep peacefully, unlike Fawkes, who had been slumbering once more on the perch in his office when he exited his quarters a few minutes later. Regardless, Dumbledore had gotten the gist of Lord Morton's 'missive' to him. The Noble Lord had obviously NOT taken well to Albus' attempts to delay Treowe Morton's departure from Hogwarts.

Lord Morton had been demanding that his heir be allowed to return home and seek treatment elsewhere for quite some time now, despite Poppy's long years at Hogwarts and her hefty experience with transformations gone wrong. She was a master healer, even if her official title WAS just Hogwarts Nurse, and her skill at dealing with potion disfigurements, hexes, and curses was unparalleled in Dumbledore's honest, humble opinion.

Unfortunately, that wasn't good enough for Lord Morton. Dumbledore despised having his hand forced, but it seemed he only had two options at this point. He either let the boy go with his blessing, or her had his authority as Headmaster of Hogwarts undermined when the boy's father showed up at the castle tomorrow to retrieve his heir himself. Honestly, his authority as well as his power over Hogwarts had been questioned and challenged far too much by far too many people in the last few years.

If he let the latter option come to pass and Lord Morton came to remove his son from the castle directly, it would only hurt his standing even further, Albus knew this. The Morton Family was considered politically neutral by most, but the aging Headmaster had learned of late just how family focused they were. It was something he would have respected, were it not for the fact that for the Mortons, 'family focused' meant that the rest of the country could go hang to protect what was theirs.

Even in the middle of the war with Tom and his Death Eaters, House Morton had refused to pick sides. That decision had cost them quite a lot from where Dumbledore was sitting, but not even the Death Eaters had dared to invade the neutral house's lands, not even when the Mortons were at their weakest. Nobody was all that interested in fighting their way through the flesh-eating Bicorns that lived on the Morton Estate, after all.

Regardless, Albus Dumbledore was not the kind of man to let himself wallow in self-pity. Ceasing the moment, he'd taken advantage of the hours that he SHOULD have been asleep to plan out his meeting with Treowe Morton. Once he was ready, the aged wizard sent Severus to retrieve the boy so that they could have one last talk. Obviously, Albus would have to let the boy go… but that didn't mean he was down and beaten, not yet.

As the magic inherent in the gargoyle guarding his office alerts him that said gargoyle is moving aside, Albus hides himself, even as he watches Treowe Morton ascend the stairs to his office. He wished to spend a bit of time observing the boy that had become so close to Hella Potter without him noticing. Especially if his worst fears were to be confirmed, and Treowe had indeed changed the Girl-Who-Lived in dangerous and unpredictable ways that were outside of Albus' plans for her.

Treowe Morton enters his office, and it's all but impossible for Albus not to immediately focus on the horns that had grown from the boy's forehead, as well as the spade tail swishing around behind him. They were even more recognizable features than the dragonhide that he'd constantly been wearing since he was named Hogwarts Champion.

Of course, even the horns and tail did little to detract from the young man's features or charms. They only made him all the more unique. It reminded Albus of Tom, far too much for the aged Headmaster's liking. Tom Riddle and Treowe Morton might have seemed completely dissimilar on the surface, with one being a muggleborn and the other being a pureblood. But Treowe carried himself in the same way Tom had all those years ago. He was the kind of boy that took what came to him, and used it to make himself stronger, no matter the cost.

The fourth child out of seven, as well as the Lord and Lady Morton's only son, Albus was aware that Treowe had three sisters older than him and three sisters younger than him. None of them, older or younger, had attended Hogwarts, all offers to that effect had been rejected. Even the one for Treowe had been rejected at first, due to the unfortunate and untimely death of his uncle, the previous Lord Morton.

The young boy had only started attending Hogwarts in his second year, though he'd easily been able to show the aptitude to be moved up to said year, not having to start with the first years instead. He'd also arrived at Hogwarts with the ability to see Thestrals and was among the volunteers that helped Hagrid tend to them from his second year on. The implications weren't exactly pleasant, and Albus could only imagine what the boy had seen.

The Headmaster's musings are interrupted however, by a familiar sound that he, nonetheless, wasn't expecting. The repeated clopping sound that follows after Treowe's entrance precedes Alastor Moody, who steps into the office instead of Severus. Albus hadn't been paying attention to anything but Treowe, but he can't help but wonder why Alastor was here. His lip twitches in disappointment at this development. There were certain methods of acquiring the information that he sought that Albus could have used in Severus' presence, but were no longer applicable if Alastor were here.

Even in the middle of the war, with the Ministry instituting an amnesty for anyone using Unforgivable Curses to defend themselves, Alastor had still brought in most of his targets alive without compromising his principles. Without proof of something darker going on, the weathered and weary old Ex-Auror would likely not allow more than light questioning and would even stand against Albus if he chose to bend the rules a bit in his presence.

"Heh, of course the Headmaster finally makes time in his schedule to see me, only to stand me up."

Treowe's loud complaint redirects Albus' attention back to the young man, even as he moves about the office with an almost languid grace, staring at the various odds and ends that Albus has strewn about the place. Some of the trinkets and baubles are dangerous artifacts, but Treowe never focuses on any of them, instead moving about the room to the next thing that catches his interest. Meanwhile, Alastor remains standing with his back to a bookcase, his eye moving around the room.

Said eye, magical in nature, lingers on Albus' position for a moment before moving on. Using the cover of conversation between the two of them, the Hogwarts Headmaster does in fact bend those rules he'd been thinking of before, just a tad. Legilimency is an old, and disused art. It's not forbidden, but only because most people don't have the knack for it, so they don't consider it all that dangerous.

If only they knew how strong of a Legilimens that Albus Dumbledore was. He didn't even need direct eye contact to glean the barest surface thoughts from the horned boy in his office.

 _-wealth of Hogwarts' knowledge locked away in one man's private collection-_

 _-knowledge is power, what you don't know can hurt you, and the fewer that know it the more powerful it becomes-_

 _-"A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to."-_

 _-How does he even keep track off anything in here? Perhaps a Point-Me-Spell?-_

It had been several decades since Dumbledore had last rode on a broom, much less rode one through a windstorm. And yet, as he brushes against the mind of one Treowe Morton, just trying to get an idea of what the young boy might be thinking, he finds his probe being battered in one direction and then the next. He has to quickly pull back mentally and rubs at his head even as he remains hidden. It reminds him of riding a broom in a windstorm, yes… but also of the last time he attempted to read the mind of a Lovegood as well.

When he looks up again, it's to find Treowe moving to stand in front of Fawkes, staring at the phoenix. Tentatively, Albus decides to give it another go. Perhaps now that the boy was focused on one subject, he could actually get something usable.

 _-a phoenix, the legendary firebird-_

 _-not actually a force of good or evil, but death and rebirth-_

 _-sometime the forest must be burn for life to begin anew-_

 _-phoenix down, revive the dead or heal the critically wounded?-_

 _-use phoenix down on undead boss to instantly kill it-_

 _-suplexing the train still most amazing way to kill the ghost train-_

 _-Does He "Praise The Sun!"?-_

The jumbled thoughts flood out towards Albus in a mess of mental weight, nearly sweeping him away as they shift and change so damn quickly, making little sense in either context or pattern. Grimacing, Albus takes a moment to center and calm himself, before placing a grandfatherly smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

Then, he steps out from his hiding place, appearing to both his guests to have walked out from behind a few book stacks.

"Ah, Alastor, Mr. Morton. Thank you for joining me."

Alastor grunts and nods, giving a simple 'Albus' in greeting. Dumbledore wouldn't expect anything more. Treowe on the other hand, doesn't even acknowledge the Headmaster's 'arrival', instead remaining quiet and seemingly utterly focused on Fawkes. So Albus decides to focus on Alastor's surprising presence first.

"Alastor, I must say, I'm a little surprised to see you here. Did Severus require your help in finding young Mr. Morton here, perhaps? I know that he has a habit of wandering the school and disappearing for hours at a time."

That last bit, Dumbledore makes sure to direct a slightly piercing stare in Treowe Morton's direction. He was both questioning Alastor's presence, as well as making the boy aware that his wandering and vanishing were known to him, at the same time. Best to lay a couple cards on the table, to see if it made Treowe more cooperative.

"Heh, Severus had no need of my help. He located him in the Slytherin Common Room, among his housemates-."

"My Head of House is rather busy with restocking the Hospital Wing's potion stock, especially with the latest… incident using up so much of Madame Pomphrey's original stock. Professor Moody, on the other hand, was free to attend this meeting in his stead."

Just as Alastor's beginning to explain, the young Morton boy cuts in, delivering the explanation instead, and rather succinctly at that. He's still staring at Fawkes though, and even stroking the phoenix now. If Alastor is annoyed at the interruption, the retired Auror doesn't show it, merely grunting and nodding, before taking a swig from his flask, as if Treowe has covered everything.

And to be fair, he has. It was a reasonable explanation for Severus not to be here and for Alastor to take his place. Especially since right now, Alastor was Albus' lead investigator into the event surrounding the Goblet of Fire and Hella Potter's name coming out of it. Still, it annoyed the Hogwarts Headmaster a little bit, to be dealing with the ornery old Ex-Auror, rather than his dependable Potions Professor.

Moving behind his desk, Albus settles into his chair, before picking up his bowl of lemon candies.

"Very well. Lemon drop, anyone?"

He's expecting the refusal. Alastor just grunts and shakes his head, something Albus knew was coming if only because he knew the old Auror well. Alastor Moody would never eat or imbibe anything that he hadn't personally observed being made. Still, he was hoping to get at least SOMETHING from the Morton boy as well, but rather than even a refusal, he was once again ignored in favor of Fawkes. Fawkes, who was softly trilling in response to Treowe's ministrations.

The boy was blatantly avoiding making eye contact with him. Still, that was somewhat expected of any student from Slytherin House. At the same time though, Fawkes was having nothing but a positive response to the young man, something that Albus found rather surprising. Perhaps that was the way into a conversation.

"My phoenix, Fawkes seems to be getting along with you rather well-."

Dumbledore cuts himself off as Fawkes quite abruptly leaps from his perch onto Treowe's horns, shifting his talons about to find the best position. In that moment, as Treowe is completely distracted, Dumbledore tries once again to glean something intelligent from the boy's surface thoughts.

 _-Fawkes, Guy Fawkes-_

 _-Remember, remember, the 5th of November, the Gunpowder Treason and plot; I know of no reason why Gunpowder Treason, should ever be forgot.-_

 _-"People shouldn't be afraid of their government. Governments should be afraid of their people."-_

 _-Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate-_

Dumbledore winces in pain as he gets another jumble of insanity that seem so out of place in what appears to be an otherwise mild-mannered young man's mind. This time though, it's not so easy to draw away. Albus has to forcefully cut himself off from the boy's surface thoughts. This in turn causes something of an embarrassing moment for the aged wizard, as his magic surges and shatters the bowl in his hand that held his lemon drops.

In that instant, Dumbledore draws the eyes of everyone in the room to him. Treowe's surprised features and widening gaze meet Dumbledore's, and the young man's mind is suddenly exposed. Albus Dumbledore was nothing if not willing to take advantage of such opportunities… so of course, he dove right in.

-x-X-x-

He was no longer in his office. Quite suddenly, Albus Dumbledore found himself in the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts. It had to be Hogwarts, of course. Given what he was doing before 'arriving' here, it only made sense. Should he find it comforting, that Treowe Morton considered Hogwarts his home in the same way that Tom Riddle and Hella Potter did? For one, it had not been a comfort. For the other, he'd worked hard to make sure that she always saw Hogwarts as home.

The Headmaster was in Treowe Morton's mind now, obviously. Marveling at the development, Dumbledore looks around with an expression of wonder across his face. He'd never seen anything like this. He'd never even imagined that someone could create such a mental construct to defend their mind. At the same time, it's rather annoying. He's spent so many decades studying the art of mind-walking, only to run into a boy who's mental landscape followed no known road map of occlumency that Dumbledore had ever studied.

Albus' Legilimency should have rendered the boys' thoughts into the form of an easily readable book for him to access and peruse through at his leisure. He was a Master at his craft, and if things were normal, he could have spent a half a moment of real time reading all there was to know about Treowe Morton. But things were not normal here. They weren't normal at all.

Behind Albus, the doors to the castle remained open, and revealed a heavy thunderstorm taking place outside. There was a steady downpour of rain, interspersed with the occasional lightning bolt, flashing down brightly, thunder booming in deafening echoes and wind howling as it blew across the front of the castle with cutting gales. It was exactly the kind of storm that would be used in muggle horror novels, or movies, or even video games to give the protagonist a reason to seek shelter and become entrapped in the dark castle.

Of course, all of this was unknown to Albus Dumbledore. Despite his proud claims of being open-minded and world-wise beyond that of the majority of wizarding society, he knew a lot less about the muggle world than he thought he did. After all, he was an old man, stuck in the past. He might think that being up to date on muggle inventions from fifty years ago made him an expert on muggles, but that was only because the wizarding world moved slowly. The muggle world on the other hand, moved much faster.

Magical Britain was a society of the most xenophobic and isolationist magic population on the planet, who'd once been a part of a country that had in turn ruled most of the known world as an empire famed for having the sun never set on it. On top of that, they hadn't quite realized that era had ended last century. It made Dumbledore a rather prideful and influential man, but at the end of the day, an old man that had lived well past his time and was very much set in his ways.

He was so sure he was right. He was so sure that he knew what he was doing. Treowe Morton was a threat, one that it was his burden to take care of. He could not allow another like Tom Riddle to rise up on his watch, especially not one that already had influence over the Girl-Who-Lived, as well as access to resources that Tom would have paid an arm and a leg for.

The boy's family was old and dangerous, having hoarded whatever knowledge they could get their hands on. Some of it was obviously very old and obscure, and it was clear that House Morton had been removing other sources of that knowledge from circulation for a long, long time. Dumbledore had been shocked to discover that Bicorns weren't even mentioned in The Monster Book of Monsters or Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them. The man-eating counterparts of Unicorns were all but unknown, outside of the few very critical, very useful potions that requires parts of the beasts. All within the Morton Family's power, of course, as they held the only source of Bicorns within their lands.

It would only be as Dumbledore began to delve into the castle before him that he would eventually realize this was NOT in fact Hogwarts. It would only be as he encountered the first of the monsters that he had to fight off with his magic, that Albus would begin to get even an inkling of just how in over his head he was.

-x-X-x-

The Shadow of the Dark Castle pauses in his plowing of the heavily pregnant bitch beneath him. He'd been fucking the broodmother for pleasure, but now… now he sensed something. Slowly, he pulls back and stands up. While the Master stands on only two legs, he is far from human. Instead, he looks more like a cross between a human and a horse instead. Well, if a horse had two large, curved horns atop its head as well.

The Bipedal Bicorn, created to be the Shadow in Treowe Morton's mind in charge of all of the young wizard's mental defenses, sneers as he senses the intruder journeying deeper and deeper into his domain. They're not even trying to be subtle about it, either. The fighting is loud, the sound of magic being flung about, and the Shadow's monstrous forces being defeated quite explosive indeed.

He was annoyed, of course. Irritated even. That the intruder had managed to gain access to his domain in the first place only proved that there was a flaw somewhere in their defenses. The fact that it hadn't yet been repelled by the lesser nightmares and was instead drawing him away from his favorite activity infuriated him. The female beneath him that he'd been fucking from behind whimpers at the loss of pleasure, and the Shadow responds by delivering a hefty smack to her fat ass, the echoing sound of slapping flesh causing her body to jump from the impact.

For a moment, the Shadow sticks his cock back inside of the pregnant broodmare. The flared head of his equine member is massaged by the movements of her stretched cunt as she shudders in orgasmic delight. Truth be told, he had a little bit of time left before the intruder actually reached any of the important memories. The lack of any attempts at stealth would slow him down as he drew even more of the castle's defenses in.

That meant the Shadow had time to finish with his fun before he had to get to work. Reaching down, the Shadow grabs hold of the fat ass in front of him and begins to fuck her even harder. The pregnant witch impaled on his massive horse cock shrieks in happiness, eyes rolling back in her head and tongue lolling out of her mouth.

If anyone could see them, they would likely be disgusted by the depravity buried in the depths of Treowe Morton's mind. After all, the Shadow of the Dark Castle that is Treowe's Mind Palace is currently fucking a mental construct identical to Treowe Morton's eldest sister, Leala Morton. Her beautiful and bottom-heavy form was further exaggerated into a pregnant, lactating broodmother that couldn't even leave the bed that he was fucking on without help, as her beanbag-sized womb was bloated with a brood of anthro-horse monsters.

As the Shadow fucks her, the 'Leala' moans wantonly, climaxing repeatedly. Her eyes roll back in her head time and time again, and her tongue lolls out of her mouth. Amusingly enough, in the beginning, the mental construct had had Leala's harsh, caustic attitude. Her witty tongue, and her rapier-like wit. Not anymore though. Oh no, the Shadow had fucked that right out of her. This was the Darkness that Treowe Morton hid in himself. This was the Shadow that resided within his mind and soul.

As the Bipedal Bicorn finishes in his broodmother's womb and pulls out with a triumphant roar, the excess of his seed flows out of her like a fountain in response. But the Shadow is already moving away from her. It's fine, of course. He's not needed for what comes next. Instead, the fleshy, doll-like feminine creatures that surround her move in closer. While their hairstyle and color, as well as their most obvious body assets are detailed, everything else is visibly lacking. They have no eyes, but they do have mouths and tongues, which eagerly get to work lapping up the spilled seed.

Meanwhile, the Shadow moves to his throne, sitting down upon it, where a mental construct of Shelbie Morton, another of Treowe's sisters, immediately begins to attend to him in a naughty nurse get-up, starting with cleaning off his large equine cock and massaging his big balls with healing magic. Soon, they swell up with a fresh load, and the eager, mind-broken construct wearing the face of Shelbie Morton happily impales herself on his dick.

The Shadow responds by grabbing her waist in one large hand and bouncing her up and down on it. As he does so, the Bipedal Bicorn watches the newest edition to his harem playing with her own pet. The black-furred, black-haired anthropomorphic doe with those gorgeous emerald eyes pants, her big, busty chest heaving with every moan from her lips while her bushy, brunette pet eats her out.

Magical energy arches from the tips of her antlers as a constant reminder of her power, and the fact that despite being a female, this one is dangerous. Of all the constructs in Treowe Morton's mind, this is the one closest to being the Shadow's equal. Seeing her looking at him, he feels a surge of competitiveness well up within him. Smiling back, the doe begins to speed up her pace in response to him fucking Shelbie all the harder.

The two of them proceed to get into a bit of a competition as they play with their pets for what feels like an eternity. But it's not, because in the end, Treowe Morton, their creator, their lord, their master… is still under attack. Having exhausted his playmate, the Shadow drops Shelbie Morton onto one of the pillows to the side of his throne, before standing with a grunt and a growl.

The intruder had not been stopped. The Dark Castle's defenses had failed to keep him from some of the more minor memories, things that didn't matter all that much. But now… now it was time to put an end to this. With a derisive snort, the Shadow summons his staff to him, and begins making his way across the floor, drawing the attention of the antlered doe with her emerald-green eyes.

"Come, my love. Someone is intruding in our domain and can't seem to take a hint. It's time to evict them… forcibly."

Those shining eyes of hers flash in response to his words, and the arcs of magic multiply between her antlers. Standing up, she too leaves her exhausted pet behind. The Shadow can't help but grin as he follows her out, more than happy to let the impatient doe take the lead. She disliked their time being interrupted even more than he did… but of course, there was also the sight of her heart-shaped ass, combined with her short fluffy tail, lifting up and down, conveying the message of what he would get once they were DONE with this.

Together, they would deal with this. If the rest of the castle defenses didn't finally do their jobs and deal with it first.

-x-X-x-

Albus' wand hand shook, and he had to stop to steady himself for a moment, frowning at the reminder of frailty and age, even as the latest monster dispersed into darkness. There was no other word better suited to describe the nightmarish creatures that roamed the halls of this dark castle. This was very much not Hogwarts, and the novelty of this adventure had died long ago.

He was no longer enjoying himself, having cast more spells in the time he had been in this place than he had since the war. His once pristine robes had become soiled and ripped, tears in them coming from the numerous close calls he'd had with the claws and blades of the monsters that had come from him. His old body ached from the exertion and strain of the various injuries that he'd suffered, as even though he'd healed himself easily enough, the phantom pain still lingered.

For once, he wished he had the actual Elder Wand with him to fight these creatures. Even as aware that this was all just a mental landscape as Albus was, it made it no easier to handle what he was facing. There were inferi with flesh twisted and bone scythes growing from their bodies. There were Hagrid-sized suits of black armor wielding various bladed weapons. There were monsters with curved heads that spat acid, and skinless dogs that dripped poison from their jowls. And that was just the beginning. There were other creatures that he could barely wrap his head around. Creatures that had not and never should have existed in the real world.

Of course, once again Dumbledore's lack of knowledge of muggle imagination was doing him disservice. Every single creature he'd faced came from a source of mundane fiction. This was a case of a magical person completely failing to understand the depths of muggle depravity. Without magic, normal people came up with the absolute worst monsters in their minds, and what Dumbledore had been fighting would have been recognizable to anyone with a passing knowledge of muggle movies and video games.

Regardless, Albus knew nothing of this. Instead, he could only press on and try to put the horrors he'd seen out of his mind. Unfortunately, he couldn't say that he'd uncovered much of use in exchange for the terrors he'd had to fight his way through so far. The memories that he'd managed to sink his teeth into so to speak had been of little use to him.

Dumbledore had learned things like the boy's passion for muggle inventions and toys, he'd learned that Treowe Morton loved his sisters more than a brother should, he learned that the young man had a dedication to self-improvement across all sorts of activities… and of course, he learned what he'd already suspected, that Treowe Morton had had a front row seat to watching his uncle get gored, trampled, and eaten alive by Bicorns.

Nothing of any true use. Nothing that Dumbledore coul- the loud clopping of hooves on stone alerted the aged wizard that more monsters had to be coming. There was nothing else in this wretched place except for monsters, so Albus readied his wand and prepared himself, even as the clopping grew louder and louder.

As soon as the shadowed shape began to cum around the corner, Albus lashed out with spells, even before he could take them in. He'd long since learned to hit first and hit hard, lest he take more unnecessary damage. Only, to his surprise, the monsters dodge his spells. Or at least, the first one does. The second summons a shield from a glowing staff, and Albus watches as his magic splatters across it, defused.

Despite the various different creatures, he'd encountered so far, the Hogwarts Headmaster still finds himself pausing and staring at the forms before him, taking them in as a sudden lull in the barely started battle gives him the chance. There was the obviously female doe, despite the rack of antlers growing out of her head, as well as a male stallion that had the horns of a Bicorns, while being covered in the black flesh of a Thestral.

Their sexes were obvious, as both were naked and on top of that, bipedal, giving Albus an unwanted and uninterrupted view of their nude fronts. The assets that they both had on display were… disgusting, to say the least. What manner of man would merge human and beast into such abominations? Albus doesn't get a chance to ask. The Bipedal Bicorn abruptly swings his staff around, and Albus barely has time to bring up a Protego before the spell unleashed struck.

His shield barely held, only to shatter a moment later as a stream of energy breaks through and blasts him down the hallway. The aged wizard goes tumbling end over end, and when he slowly gets up, its to the echoing sound of something that had to be laughter, coming from the stallion. At the same time, Albus lifts his head just in time to see magical energy arching among the doe's antlers with growing intensity. A moment later, and multiple orbs of magic spring forth from her, flying towards him.

With a celerity that would have surprised many who knew him, Albus managed to spring around the corner, stumbling really as several explosions flash and echo behind him. In that instant, the aged Headmaster knows he's outmatched. For the first time since entering this horrid place, Albus has to flee from the monsters that are actually capable of overwhelming him.

As he runs, Albus casts various transfigurations and other spells behind him to slow his pursuers. From Ice Walls to creating rock golems out of the ceiling and floor, Albus puts whatever he can between him and the advancing monsters, even as he looks for a way out. Not in the castle, mind, but a way out of the mental landscape he's currently trapped in. He needed to leave. None of this was real, none of this was true. He just had to find a way to disconnect himself from Treowe Morton's mind.

Unfortunately, to his dismay, Albus quickly discovered that he was too deep in the castle, too deep in the mind scape, to easily break the connection and return to his own body. If he could remember the path he had taken to actually get to where he was now, he might have been able to return to the Entrance Hall… but no, as the old wizard looks about, panicking, he finds himself completely and utterly lost.

Behind him, the stomping of the hooves grows louder and louder. They were getting closer, and their spell fire was becoming more accurate. Luckily, Albus saw large doors ahead that led off into some passage. The doors themselves would offer a bit of respite, and he put on a burst of speed to reach them all the faster.

Not hesitating to enter whatever lay beyond, Albus uses his wand to slam the doors shut and then begins casting, the fastest, most detailed casting of his life as he creates barricade upon barricade to keep the doors sealed. For a moment after he completes his work, the whole thing rattles, and he despairs, wondering if it's going to get away.

But no, it held. It held, even as it rattled again, an almost rhythmic pattern that, nevertheless, wasn't breaking through any time soon. Breathing a sigh of relief, Albus turns away to seek out his next possible route to escape. Now that he no longer has to flee, he walks rather than sprints, taking his time exploring the hallways around him.

Mercifully, they are empty of the creatures he had previously faced. They are seemingly empty of everything, and Albus feels a bit of hope that he might just be able to recoup and recover some of his energy here. If he can just have a bit of time to rest, then he could get enough mental fortitude back to blast his way through these latest threats and make his way back to the entrance hall of the castle.

He could-

Just as Albus is coming upon another junction, he hears a scream from the left hallway, and watches as a young woman of all things runs past. That isn't what freezes him up though for a good solid half a minute. No, what freezes him in place is the sight of her face as she glances his way before disappearing down the next hallway. It couldn't be. It couldn't possibly be-

Albus' thoughts are abruptly interrupted by the hollering of a gang of hooligans who run past next, clearly in pursuit of her. For a long moment, the aged wizard stands there, his rational mind tried to deny that he'd just seen his sister Ariana being chased by a pack of muggles. It was impossible not to flash back to a moment three years past though, when he'd stared into the glass of the Mirror of Erised once more, and it'd showed him his truest desire.

At the time, Albus had told young Hella that he saw himself holding a pair of nice, woolen socks. Not to knock woolen socks or anything, but obviously that had been a lie. The Mirror of Erised, had, as it always did, shown him his family all together, alive, and happy, with Gelbert at his side. His heart ached at the memory, and when Ariana screamed a second time, despite the protest in the back of his mind that none of this was real, the Headmaster found himself chasing after them.

He encounters the muggle boys kicking and stomping on Ariana's curled up body, and without thinking, he blasts them with a wave of his magic. They fly into the walls with echoing cracks, each of their bodies sliding down in a slow growing pool of blood, their necks all at odd angles, their eyes sightless. But Albus doesn't care about them. He doesn't pay them any mind. Instead, the old wizard kneels beside his sister's weakly breathing body, and he clutches at her as tears stream down his wrinkled face.

"I'm so sorry, Ariana. I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for not being there for you. I'm sorry for the duel. I'm sorry that you d-died for my mistakes. Please, Ariana. Speak to me. Forgive me. Please. I…"

He realizes, during his apology that was not actually an apology, but him hoping to be absolved of his sins, that her breathing has stopped, and he's lost her again. Completely out of his mind with grief at this point, Albus Dumbledore howls and sobs. He's failed Ariana once more, and this time, it was his fault, it was his indecision, it was HE who had not moved fast enough to save her.

In the midst of his overwhelming grief, limp, lifeless arms suddenly grasp at him like a vice grip as a choking breath comes from Ariana's body. Albus can only yell out in horror as the pale, white corpse that he's holding becomes something that is NOT his sister anymore, her black hair growing, lengthening, and entangling around his body.

His wand clatters from nerveless fingers, his magic fails to respond, and all Dumbledore can do is stare into those wide, condemning eyes as his vision is slowly black out by dark hair that isn't hair.

 **-x-X-x-**

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	11. Chapter 11

How was this his life? Bartemius Crouch Jr. found himself wondering that very thing, even as he picked shards of glass out of the old Headmaster's hand. It was obvious to Barty at least that Dumbledore had tried to wandlessly cast Legilimency on Heir Morton. It was exactly the reason why Barty always kept his eyes off of Dumbledore's, though that worked well because he was supposed to be masquerading as Alastor Moody, Paranoid Ex-Auror.

The Headmaster would probably never try to take a peek into Alastor Moody's mind in the first place, given their long history together. No doubt, Albus Dumbledore would know what would happen if he was caught trying to get away with Moody's secrets. Even still, it was perfectly in character for Barty to avoid looking the older wizard in the eye. Perfectly in character.

Just as it was perfectly in character for a bumbling, over-powered fool like Albus Dumbledore to try to sneak a peek in the Morton Heir's mind. Treowe Morton was certainly an intriguing individual, from what Barty had seen so far this year, but it was clear that for Albus at least, he was proving an incredibly vexing tough nut, one that so far, the Headmaster had not managed to crack.

And yet, losing control of his magic and shattering his own candy dish was not something that Barty ever thought he'd see from the aging Headmaster, not in a million years. Yes, the wizard was old, incredibly so, but the loss of control that that signified was… it went against the image that Albus projected to everyone, and it was an incredibly embarrassing blunder for someone his age to make. It would be so easy to let it slip to the right people and see Albus Dumbledore subsequently removed from power for going senile.

None-the-less, that wasn't what Moody would do. And right now, he wasn't Bartemius Crouch Jr., not really. He was Alastor Moody, retired Auror. He was exactly what the Dark Lord needed him to be. So of course, when the candy bowl had shattered, Barty had rushed forward and immediately began lecturing Dumbledore on the dangers of not checking every gift he received for traps, basically writing off the embarrassing display of accidental magic as an 'assassination attempt', because that was what Moody would do for his old friend the Headmaster.

He then had proceeded with extracting the glass shards in Dumbledore's frail hand, healing up the bleeding wounds that the older wizard had taken on. Honestly, if it hadn't gone against the will of his Master, Barty was pretty sure he could have taken out the old man by simply soaking some of those lemon drops he loved so much in poison and giving them to him as a Yule Gift. Dumbledore was clearly going barmy with age, even barmier than he'd been back when Barty had been at Hogwarts.

Several seconds into his lecture and his actions, however, Barty realizes something. Namely, that neither the Headmaster nor the Slytherin Champion have heard a single thing he said. With a start, the disguised Death Eater looks between the two, only to realize that they've both frozen up, staring at one another with only the occasional breath passing from their lips or nostrils showing any sign of life for either of them.

If it was just him and the two of them, he might have taken the opportunity presented and done something… drastic. But no, as it was, even now Bartemius was well aware that he wasn't the only conscious being in the room. The Headmaster's Phoenix was also still quite cognizant, and also quite aware that something was up with both Treowe Morton and Albus Dumbledore. From its perch on the Morton Heir's horns, Fawkes twists its head this way and that, looking back and forth between the two motionless wizards.

After a long moment, the legendary firebird proceeds to lean over and peck at the forehead beneath him, seeking some form of reaction like a far less intelligent creature might, rather than the sapient magical phoenix that he was. Still, at least he was doing SOMETHING. Barty… Barty wasn't sure what to do, as he stared between the two men, Moody's stolen magical eye whirling back and forth and back again.

Oh, he'd seen such sights before, to be fair. During the war, he'd watched the Dark Lord personally extract knowledge from an enemy's mind. But that had always been rather one sided, as his Master would happily crush the mind of his targets to get whatever it was, he wanted. Even still, even if Dumbledore was a gentler sort, and knowing what he did of the soft old wizard, he likely was, there was no reason this should have still been going on.

Albus Dumbledore was the only one who came remotely CLOSE to challenging his Master when the Dark Lord was at the height of his power back during the war, and unless he was being extremely thorough in seeking information, which would likely leave Treowe as catatonic as overwhelming force would have, he should have been finished up by now, with the boy none the wiser.

And yet… and yet here they remained, in their unblinking staring contest, the both of them completely unresponsive. Barty finishes removing the last of the glass shards from Dumbledore's hand and heals up the last of the cuts caused by the candy dish exploding, and then he steps back, grimacing as he considers all that has happened up to this point. Luckily, he was pretty sure standing at the ready and waiting for something to happen would be what Moody would have done as well. The retired Auror wasn't really the kind of wizard who went and 'got help.

It shouldn't have mattered who was chosen as the actual Champion of Hogwarts, in the end. The entire revitalization of the Triwizard Tournament was supposed to be nothing more than a set up to ritually prepare Hella Potter for her part in the ritual that would see the Dark Lord restored to his full power. But Treowe Morton had proved to be both an unexpected ally, as well as a wrench tossed into the middle of their plans.

The Pureblood Heir was from a family that had neither opposed his Master, nor allied with him back during the war. But even with House Morton's inaction, their heir was still shaping up to be everything that Barty felt the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters had been fighting so hard for back in the good days, before his Master's defeat. It would be such a shame if he stood in the way of their plans for Hella Potter, in the way of the Dark Lord's plans for the Potter Girl.

Yes, Hella Potter needed to be strong enough to reach the cup first at the end of the Third Task, in order to send her to his Master… but ever since the First Task, Barty had found himself worried. Worried that Hella would be too much for Peter fucking Pettigrew to fucking handle, when the time finally came. He only wished he could be there himself, or that the Dark Lord would take his advice and call in more of his servants, even if he was not yet at full strength.

But his Master trusted practically no one who was not currently locked up in Azkaban. Barty understood why. He and Peter were wanted fugitives under the current regime. The Dark Lord, when he rose again, would see that they were both exonerated and regarded once more as well-respected members of wizarding society. That wasn't the sole reason Barty served his Master, but he knew it was likely Peter's reason. Or more succinctly, the rat had nowhere left to scurry.

Regardless, the Potter Heiress might very well be too much for Pettigrew to handle. She'd crippled a Hungarian Horntail in midflight, for Merlin's sake! That had not been some lucky miracle, no. As much as Barty might have wished it was, that had instead been a show of raw, magical power combined with skill beyond anything she should have known!

Heh, he still didn't know if the dragon breaking free had been due to sheer incompetence on the part of the Dragon Handlers, or if there'd been deliberate sabotage. Certainly not on his end, given Hella's importance to the Dark Lord, but he wouldn't put it past someone like fucking Karkaroff to bribe or intimidate someone into sabotaging the chain, or simply using a weaker chain for what was a very strong species of dragon.

Either way, Hella was far more capable than all reports said she should be… and Barty knew that that was all because of the Morton Heir. By this point, it was exceedingly obvious that Treowe Morton was not only using Hella Potter for his own ends, he was building her up into something that might one day be truly terrifying… if the Dark Lord let her live that long.

Startled from his inner musings by the bird equivalent of a large sigh, Barty looks up just in time to see Fawkes flap its wings and pulls away from the Morton Heir's horns, landing instead on the edge of the Headmaster's desk. The Phoenix proceeds to slowly walk on its talons across the desk, said talons clicking and clacking as it goes, until eventually, it was just off to the side of them both. There, the legendary firebird sticks its head forward until its eyes, which of course are further back on the sides of its head than any human's would be, make contact with the locked gaze of both Treowe Morton and Albus Dumbledore.

The Phoenix freezes, just as they both had, staring unblinking into the eyes of the old man and the pureblood heir. Barty's lips part and he lets out a low exhalation. Oh, that clever bird…

For a moment, he considers taking out the now completely vulnerable old man, and the phoenix for good measure. He could leave Heir Morton to take the blame… but no. They would surely cancel the Triwizard Tournament if one of the Headmasters of the three competing schools ended up dead at the hands of his own Champion. That would not serve the Dark Lord's plans. That would not serve his plans at all.

The moment in which Barty could have acted anyways passes with a flash of Phoenix fire, and a melodic, echoing sound that reminds him of the better days of his youth, before all three of the beings in front of him come out of their trance-like state. Barty stays silent and watches the trio for reactions. It feels like the Moody thing to do. Dumbledore immediately sags back in his chair, desperately gasping for air and suddenly looking incredibly weighed down by his over century of life in a way Barty has never seen before, not as a younger man, nor while he's been masquerading as Moody.

The Headmaster looks WEAK. The Morton Heir, meanwhile, turns away immediately, muttering curses and rubbing at the base of the horns on his forehead as he bows said head into his hands. It's immediately obvious that he knows exactly what Dumbledore just tried to do. That has startling connotations, all on its own.

Meanwhile, Fawkes just glares at both wizards as only a phoenix can, before sighing in a rather put off manner and then flying up to its normal perch, tucking its head under its wing and going right to sleep. Barty doesn't spend much time paying the firebird any mind though. Treowe Morton has turned back to face them already… and he has his wand drawn.

Barty freezes up, silently berating himself for letting a younger man get the drop on him. Moody wouldn't have, but while the wand was not quite pointing at either of them, it was but a flick of his wrist away from being in position to hex either. And looking at Dumbledore, the old man didn't have a single ounce of strength left with which to draw his own wand, let alone cast magic.

If Heir Morton decided to take revenge on the Headmaster here and now, there wasn't much Barty could do about it. He would have to act quickly, if it did come to that. Still, the Pureblood Heir doesn't look much better than Dumbledore at this point, though he's still standing, at least. Taking deep, aggravated breaths while tightly gripping his wand, Treowe Morton glares daggers down at the tired old man sat before him. For the next few moments, its as if the entire room is balanced on the edge of a knife…

And then Treowe brings up his wand and turns it on the fragments of the glass candy dish scattered across Dumbledore's desk and floor. He flicks and swishes his casting implement in silence, and the candy dish reassembles, albeit without the lemon drops ALSO scattered across the desk and the floor, and WITH some of the red of Dumbledore's blood now mixed in with the glass where it'd cut into the old man's flesh.

Barty's eyes trail over the repaired candy bowl in slight wonder, his mind already going places as he contemplates what exactly one could do with Dumbledore's blood, assuming the Headmaster doesn't get rid of the dish after this.

"Do be careful, esteemed Headmaster Dumbledore. It would be rather unfortunate to have lived this long only to be killed by such an… avoidable accident."

He was taunting him. The Morton boy was taunting the wizard widely regarded as the most powerful magic user in Great Britain, and possibly the world over. And more than that, he was DARING Albus to try again. Gone was the young man who'd tried to keep from looking into the Headmaster's eyes with all his might. Now… now Treowe Morton glares at Dumbledore, staring down into his no-longer sparkling gaze.

In the end, it's the Headmaster who turns away. Barty can't believe it. And he can't help but be curious. What was it that Dumbledore had seen to make him flinch away from even the thought of making eye contact with the Pureblood Heir?

"… Mister Morton, you have my permission to seek treatment for your… condition. Take as long as you need to heal, but please do remember that the Second Task takes place on February Twenty-Fourth. You will need to be present for it, or you will risk the consequences of the Goblet's Wrath."

With no more than a nod, Treowe steps back from the Headmaster's desk… but he doesn't turn away. His eyes never leave the two of them, and his wand remains fixed in their general direction until his back hits the archway to the staircase. Then he vanishes down it without a moment of hesitation, leaving the office completely silent, no sound other than the staircase rotating down and entry sealing behind the Morton boy filling the room.

Let alone with Dumbledore and his slumbering pet Phoenix, Barty knew that he had to play his part to perfection, just as he always did when meeting privately with the old man. Luckily, this time, he got to be nice and angry at Dumbledore. After all, it was what Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody would have done. Circling around the desk, for the first time in his life, Barty glares down at Dumbledore without fear of Legilimency. Whatever the Headmaster had seen in Treowe Morton's mind, it kept his gazed fixed on the desk in front of him.

"Albus! What were you thinking?! Do you have any idea what you have done?! You have all but given the Heir of a Family that already didn't like you more than enough evidence to have you removed from your position here at Hogwarts! Let alone your rolls both in the Wizengamot and on the International Stage! Albus! Are you even listening to me?!"

"… Leave me, Alastor. I need to be alone."

Barty is not that surprised by Dumbledore's response, and he's even privately gratified by it, even though he has to keep playing up the act.

"Leave you?! Albus, all it would take is for the boy to go to Amelia and-!"

"I SAID LEAVE!"

He'd been intending to take 'no' for an answer the second time around, but not even Barty was prepared for the weary-looking Headmaster to suddenly rise from his desk and roar in his face. For a single, terrifying moment Bartemius Crouch Jr. sees in Albus Dumbledore not the senile, doddering old fool, but the Slayer of Grindelwald and the man that had given even his Master, the Dark Lord, pause. Several trinkets and magical doodads on the shelves around them shake and shiver from the backlash of magical energy that the powerful old wizard so thoughtlessly gives off, and some even explode outright.

Barely managing to maintain his cover, Bartemius straightens up as Alastor would have and gives a single nod.

"We will discuss this and your options later, Albus, once you've had time to calm down."

And then he retreats as fast as reasonable possibly, stalking over to the stairwell archway and escaping the unstable Headmaster with his health still intact. The oddest thing though is that he could swear that the last thing he hears before the door closes behind him is a choked sob from the old man.

-x-X-x-

Hella Potter had been reminded once again, at lunch in the Great Hall, that she really didn't have a good read on what 'normal' meant for other people. With the rumor mill being alive and active, discussion centered around Treowe having been seen being escorted by Professor Moody to Dumbledore's office. That was the actual fact of the discussion that everyone she'd heard could agree on… but after that, it spiraled into crazy, outlandish rumors.

So far, Hella had heard such insane things as, Moody had escorted Treowe to Dumbledore at wand point, or that Treowe had been floated unconscious after resisting arrest, or that he was going to be kicked out of the tournament for cheating somehow, or that he'd been revealed as some half-breed abomination and he was going to be kicked out of school altogether, or that he was still a half-breed abomination, but Dumbledore had found a cure for his affliction or something.

Regardless, something that Hella had learned from all of this was that it was apparently a big thing to be escorted to the Headmaster's office if your name wasn't Hella Potter. It was eye-opening, being on the other side of it for once. Was this what the rest of the school had done every single time SHE'D been repeatedly brought before the Headmaster over these last few years?

Her entire life, Hella had been presented to authority figures as the 'troublemaker'. She'd been accused of all sorts of things, most of which Dudley had done, but of course, Dudley was perfect and Hella… well, Hella was the freak. Even coming to Hogwarts and getting away from her cousin, Hella had still been expecting it to happen… and she'd not been disappointed. Her multiple meetings with the Headmaster over the years had only reinforced that it was just business as usual for her.

At least at Hogwarts, the scales of judgment had always seemed to weight in her favor, no matter what 'trouble' she might have caused. She was innocent of most anything that didn't have to do with her being forced to save the day again, after all. Regardless, Hella had ultimately decided to abandon the Great Hall and her lunch midmeal. She needed to make sure that Treowe was okay.

That was what had led to her hiding under her father's Invisibility Cloak outside of the Headmaster's Office, wondering what she was supposed to do next. She could likely have guessed the password for the gargoyle statue by simply going down the list of magical and mundane candies, but what was she supposed to do once she was inside of the office?

Treowe had warned her repeatedly since the beginning of the year that she should avoid any situation where she ended up alone with the Headmaster, as Dumbledore COULD and DID leisurely read the minds of the young wizards and witches around him, treating the students under his care like a public library as a way to keep up his seemingly omnipotent knowledge of everything going on at Hogwarts.

When Hella had asked Treowe how he was getting away with it, the answer had chilled her. But in the end, it'd also made too much sense. After all, as Treowe had said… 'who could make him stop?'. Regardless, Hella wasn't going to let Treowe face Dumbledore alone any longer than she had to. She just needed to come up with a plan, and she would-

Her attempts at scheming end prematurely as the sound of grinding stone fills the corridor, and the gargoyle stature moves aside to reveal Treowe coming stomping down the staircase hidden within, a furious and stormy expression on his face. His quick pace saw him walking right past where Hella was hidden under the cloak. For a moment, Hella considered revealing herself, but there was no telling what the portraits or even the gargoyle statue might report back to the Master of the Castle… Dumbledore himself.

Instead, she resolves to follow Treowe, knowing where he was probably heading to cool off. It was obvious that he was pissed off from his meeting with the Headmaster, and Hella… Hella could give him a pleasant way to relax and de-stress, once they were both safely ensconced in the privacy of the Room of Requirement.

However, she makes it no more than a few steps before Treowe abruptly spins around, eyes wide and nostrils flared open, his wand out ready to hex her. Or not her specifically, but definitely the space she's standing in. Hella goes perfectly still, freezing up in place as Treowe's eyes roam up and down the hallway, searching for whatever had tipped him off to her presence. She was invisible though, she knew that… she just had to stay where she was, and he wouldn't be able to see her.

Holding her breath, not even daring to let the air escape from her lungs, Hella stays as silent as the grave. She has no doubt that in his current mood, Treowe would mercilessly hex and curse her before she could safely reveal herself to him. The man she loved with all her heart… was a dangerous man indeed.

Eventually though, with nothing concrete to go off of, Treowe finally lowers his hand and slowly walks backwards down the rest of the hallway, eyes still roaming back and forth across where she's stood, invisible. Eventually, he disappears around the corner, and Hella can finally release the breath she'd been holding in. Spending the next few moments just gulping in lungfuls of air, the hidden young woman decides that discretion is the better part of valor here and tries to give her lover sufficient time to get some distance ahead of her. After all, they were going to the same place, right?

Her breathing back to normal, and somewhat secure in the knowledge that Treowe had to be a couple hundred feet away by now, Hella walks forward, Invisibility Cloak held tight to her person as she prepares to go around the same corner that her lover had disappeared around half a minute prior. Only, Treowe didn't keep going. Hella turns the corner and finds him only a dozen or so feet away from her, his wand out and his eyes gazing in her direction.

She tries to make an abortive attempt at stopping and freezing up again, only for a loud crunching sound to fill the hallway. Instinctively looking down, Hella blinks stupidly at the crushed yellow candy she'd stepped on, as well as the several whole lemon drops scattered across the floor in front of her. She barely has time to look back up at Treowe before red spell-fire dominates her vision and slams into her, knocking her unconscious.

-x-X-x-

Hella woke up slowly and in a rather groggy state, as though she'd been asleep for far longer than she normally would have slept. Her senses slowly make themselves known, one after another. Her body is resting on pillows, and her head is rested on someone's lap, while a familiar scent makes her body heat up and flush with anticipation as her wetting inner thighs rub together. She wanted to touch herself, but her arms were restrained behind her back, aching slightly at being pulled into a position they weren't made for, for so long.

On top of that, she can't get the damn sleep-sand out of her eyes because her hands are restrained. Her body tries anyways, of course, instinctively, only for Hella to have cause to immediately regret said action, as the bondage her arms are in extends to her entire upper torso, crisscrossing across her chest and looking up and around in such a way that every time she attempts to move her arms, her breasts get squeezed all the more tightly at the base.

The pleasure and pain of the action shock her in to pulling harder, and Hella gasps as the resulting sensations leave her moaning, whimpering, and struggling anew against her bindings. Attempting to lash out with her legs only finds them to be bound as well, with her ankles slightly apart from the rope-shackles that limit her range of movement but don't completely restrain it.

What… what had happened to her? How did she get here? Where was she? The last thing she could remember was… she'd followed Treowe under her father's cloak and then… and then d-darkness. Ah. That was what had happened. She'd let herself be ambushed by her lover like a damn fool. A familiar hand strokes through her long locks of riled up hair, and Hella bites her lower lip as said hair immediately lashes out, her training in using her metamorphmagus ability giving her another weapon, despite being tied up. Of course, the man who'd been doing the tying had known that… just as he'd known she'd never truly try to hurt him.

"Hella. You need not fear; you are in safe company. Though in the future, I would suggest you avoid trying to sneak up on me or any wizard or witch while they are pissed off and altogether paranoid after a meeting with our… esteemed Headmaster."

Treowe's familiar deep baritone sees Hella's panicked breathing slowing, and her struggles dying down as the mass of hair that's gripping his arm slowly goes inert, allowing his hand to continue stroking through it. Her cheeks heat up in embarrassment at her blunder, and she squirms a little bit, only for the movement to remind her of the intricate bondage setup that Treowe has her in.

"T-Treowe…"

She tried to start, only to let out a particularly wanton moan. It takes her a moment to collect herself again, as she blushes profusely.

"W-Why am I still tied up?"

Her cunt was dripping right now at the implications of Treowe knocking her out, stripping her naked, tying her up, and then keeping her company this whole time, she'd been unconscious. Only the lack of an ache between her legs told her that he hadn't had his way with her as well, and truth be told, there was a small part of Hella that was a little disappointed by that.

"You weren't the one I was expecting to see under a Cloak of Invisibility, Hella."

Hella frowned at that, before realization dawned and a chill went down her back that had nothing to do with her state of undress.

"I fully expected that someone would be following me, or even waiting to intercept me after my meeting with the Supreme Mugwump, especially given the fact that I received permission to leave Hogwarts and seek treatment at my family home. The road to Hogsmeade can be frightfully long without a carriage or mount, and there's plenty of places along the road where someone could be waylaid on foot."

Hella's breath hitches, and not from arousal. Treowe had been fully expecting someone to jump him after he got out of his meeting with the Headmaster, and she had unfortunately proven him right, not that she was TRYING to ambush him. Still, that didn't really answer her question, did it?

"So why am I still tied up? After you discovered that it was me under the cloak, you could have just woken me up once you brought me here."

Why hadn't he woken her up and given her a chance to apologize for being a naughty witch a bit earlier, was what Hella really mean. Merlin, she was horny right now. But then, she HAD been resting on his lap, breathing in his scent for who knows how long.

"Why are you still tied up, you ask?"

Treowe snorts indelicately, looking down at her with a shake of his head.

"Heiress Potter. You were soundly defeated while attempting to sneak up on a wizard two years your senior. You were captured after being rendered unconscious by a simple stunner. If it had been anyone other than me who'd taken you like this, who knows what they might have done to you, or forced you to do in return for your freedom."

Hella bites her lower lip, squirming at the reminder of the numerous times her life had been threatened by others during her years at Hogwarts. Treowe was right, of course.

"Being under an Invisibility Cloak may hide one from sight, but it doesn't make you undetectable, Heiress Potter. So, to make sure the lesson sticks and you remember it in the future… I will be punishing you for your failure."

The word 'punish' carried a distinct shift in tone, one that had Hella shivering with anticipation, and then yelping loudly when his tail suddenly whipped around to smack at her big fat bubble butt. Treowe grabs hold of her body and begins to manhandle her position. Hella squirms a little, but lets him do as he likes, knowing that he's right, knowing that she put on a shameful performance back there, and deserved this punishment.

It's not long before he has her on her knees, spreading them in an arch so that her ankles were crossed behind her and her thighs were stretched far apart, her pussy dripping onto the carpeted floor. Finally, his thumbs come up and Hella closes her eyes as he rubs the sleep out of them so she can finally see. The first thing that comes into vision once he's done is the straining bulge in his boxers, his cock clearly hard as a rock and ready for her. She was going to soak the carpet beneath her in sexual fluids if he didn't put that in her soon.

Treowe reaches up and hooks a finger into the waistband of his briefs… before pausing as he smiles down at her.

"However, before we continue, I do care deeply for you, Heiress Potter, and I do not intend to make you go beyond what you can handle. Therefore, the safe word, if you need it, is Alohomora. If you say that at any time, I will stop, free you, and we can continue this lesson in a… more relaxed setting."

Hella bites her lower lip and nods rapidly to make sure he knows she understands, appreciating his kindness, even as she felt undeniably eager to get on with this. A few moments pass between them, with Treowe clearly giving her a chance to stop this right now. But there's no way that Hella is going to do that, no way she's going to pass up this chance, especially not when he's been given permission to leave and go get himself fixed up.

Remaining silent, the top-heavy young witch stares intently at Treowe's crotch, though she glances up at his face every once in a while, which is why she sees the moment he smiles ferally down at her and pulls down his briefs. His massive bitch-breaker of a member flops out and lands on her face, his big balls bouncing free beneath it as well as he pulls her down to the base of his member, into his nut sack.

Her nostrils flare as they fill with his musky, masculine scent, and Hella breathes in deeply as several seconds pass with him firmly holding her head in place so that the only air she can breathe comes filtered through his balls, every single breath she takes laced with his scent. Every intake of air invades her body, making her hotter, hornier, and wetter. Forcing her to pant needily for more. Each gulping breath strains her binding as Treowe traces his spaded tail over her body.

Suddenly, he pulls back and Hella nearly topples over at the loss of his strong body to lean against. Before she can however, his tail grabs hold of her binding, keeping her from falling forward and pulling her over to the front of the couch, where he sits down and spreads his legs wide to give her access to his magnificent manhood.

"Lick."

Hella doesn't hesitate. She doesn't so much as pause as she leans forward and begins to lap at Treowe's cock with single-minded focus.

"Eyes on me."

Her vibrant green eyes immediately snap up to Treowe's face. He looks back at her with approval and a smile spreading across his features, and Hella feels a burst of pure satisfaction in her chest, even as she works over his cock and balls with nothing but her tongue and lips, her hands still thoroughly restrained behind her back.

It's not long before Treowe takes control further, of course. Her treacherous hair practically clings to his hand like an affectionate pet when he grips down on it, but then, Hella also opens her mouth willingly and lets him slide his cock right down her throat without complaint, so she can't really call out her hair for having a mind of its own when truly, they're of the same mind on this.

His cock thrusts past her lips and hits the back of her throat, and at first Hella gags a little. But she's learned a lot from Treowe over these last few months, and not all of it is magic. Treowe has always had a big, fat cock… and it's been Hella's responsibility to learn how to manage it for a while now. She starts to swallow, and soon enough, Treowe's member is sliding down her esophagus without complaint. She's barely even gurgling as she deep-throats his member like a champ, her shimmering green eyes remaining affixed on his face as he groans his appreciation.

His other hand comes down past her face and grabs one of her tits however, and Hella's concentration is disrupted as she involuntarily moans around the cock ravaging her throat, causing her to choke a little on his meat. Treowe doesn't let up though, casually molesting her large breasts while at the same time using his grip on her hair to pull her back and forth along his member, thrusting it down her gullet time and time again.

"Gagkh! Gagkh! Gagkh!"

In the end, despite her technique, there's limits to what Hella can do to repress her gag reflex. And it seems Treowe isn't in the mood today to let her off easy. He's punishing her, after all, and she's not supposed to be ENJOYING it. Well, she's not supposed to ONLY be enjoying it. Hella is sure that Treowe is fully aware of just how WET she is down there. Just as she's sure that he doesn't mind, so long as she takes the pain along with the pleasure.

Regardless, he spends no small amount of time brutally face fucking her, pounding away at her throat until she's gurgling and drooling and choking on his cock like some… some two-bit whore. It's funny, because about halfway through, Hella realizes that she has no true way of saying the safe word. She could perhaps nip at his member and then he'd pull back and let her say it, probably… but it doesn't matter one way or another in the end, because Hella has no intention of saying it, no matter what.

She trusts Treowe with her life, with everything, and that trust is not misplaced, she knows it. If he says she deserves this punishment, than she does. No true harm will come to her. She's not sure how long she kneels there between his legs, choking on his cock, but all good things eventually come to an end. Treowe doesn't cum down her throat, but he does cum in her mouth, pulling back until just the head of his cock is trapped between her lips.

Hella wishes she could say she was ready for it, but the brutal face-fucking she's been subjected to up until this point has left her dazed. By the time she realizes Treowe is cumming and begins to swallow his load, more than a fair share of it has ended up escaping from her mouth and running down the front of her body. He pulls out once he's done and hits her across the face with two final spurts of his seed before stepping away and leaving her there, kneeling and bound in rope.

"We're not finished yet, mind you. I'm just giving you a chance to regain your strength, escape from your bondage… and potentially turn the tables on me."

As he taunts her, Hella is slowly recovering, her mind managing to process his words just as he's placing a large hourglass, he must have had the room make on an end table nearby… along with her wand. He turns the hourglass over and Hella watches the sand begin to trickle down as he looks at her.

"You have one hour. Free yourself, reach me in the bath, and then you can have your wicked way with me, however you please."

He turns away, but it's what he does as he leaves that catches Hella's attention. Treowe snatches up her father's invisibility cloak from where he'd laid it across the couch she'd woken up on, and it completely pulls Hella out of the haze of sexual pleasure and pain, all the sensations she's experiencing right now paling in comparison to her sudden focus.

"W-Wait! Please, the cloak… i-it was my father's. It's all I have left of him."

He stops and turns to look at her, emotionless as his fingers slide over the silvery garment. Hella feels the first kernel of dread forming in her belly at that look… it's how Treowe always looks when he's about to shatter her world again.

"Your father's cloak, you say?"

Biting her lower lip, Hella pushes past the bad feeling Treowe's expression is giving her and nods rapidly.

"Y-Yes… he used it while he was still a s-student at Hogwarts. Just like… just like I've been using it to get around unnoticed as well. If you lose it in here, who knows where it could end up."

Treowe continues to look at her for a long moment more, before letting out a sigh and shaking his head.

"Hella… Invisibility Cloaks, depending on the quality of material and the skill of the maker, have an effective life span of ten to twenty years at most before the magic fails."

… What?

"On top of that, there are no rips, no tears, and no signs of the magic failing in this cloak. This means it has to be relatively new… less than five years old, if I had to guess. Whoever told you that this was your father's cloak lied to you. It's a good, useful tool, given it seems to be practically brand new… but it's no family heirloom."

Hella just stares at Treowe and the cloak held in his grasp. Her mouth opens and closes, but none of the denials she wants to levy against him come out. As much as she didn't want it to be true, it… it all made too much sense, in hindsight. From the events of her First Year on to now, it all lined up before her eyes. From that very first moment when she'd received the cloak with that little note claiming it was her dad's and telling her to… to use it well.

It was just another manipulation. She should have expected as much. She should have questioned it far sooner, given everything else she'd been made to question about her life and about the wizarding world so far this year. Deep down inside, perhaps she HAD questioned it… but perhaps equally so, she hadn't wanted to believe it.

And yet, if Treowe was telling her the truth, which he was, she HAD to believe that, he was the only person in the world she could trust unconditionally… then Dumbledore had lied to her. He'd manipulated her desperate desire for anything that had to do with her long-dead parents. He'd set her up and given her a tool she would feel undeniably attached to, in order to make sure she would use it to do his bidding unknowingly, to make sure she would be able to carry out her yearly adventures… at his behest.

She can feel the tears welling up in her eyes. Seeing them, Treowe lets out a soft sigh and walks over, placing the cloak reverse side up around her so that it remained visible, even as it settled over her shoulders. He leaves her like that without a word, and Hella just sits there, offering no resistance at first, just… just sitting there and thinking.

 **-x-X-x-**

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	12. Chapter 12

_Sometimes the forest must burn for life to begin anew._

 _When the infection has been left to fester too long, the blade must cut deep to remove it._

 _At times, the bone must be broken again, before it can be set properly._

These sayings and more flit through Treowe's thoughts, and even knowing them to be true, his gut still twisted and writhed from the expression that had been on Hella's face when he left her. The absolute silence that had followed in his wake from walking away from her had made it all the worse. Even hearing her cry or having her magic lash out in uncontrollable anger would have been preferable than what he actually got from her.

"Bitsy."

And yet, he still had to soldier on. Calling out, Treowe summons a House Elf to his side. Within a moment of him speaking her name, there's a soft pop as the creature appears, looking up at him eager and happy to serve as always.

"Miss Potter has missed dinner, and likely cut her lunch short earlier. See that she eats enough to make up for it. Do not release her from her bindings though… but do make sure to give her plenty of sweets. I believe strawberry tarts are her favorite."

Bitsy was a House Morton elf, or otherwise, Treowe wouldn't have even called her in the first place. While Hogwarts House Elves could be utilized in a number of different ways, they wouldn't really allow one student to keep another student bound and gagged as he'd left Hella. But that was fine, Treowe had more than enough assistance already.

As Bitsy pops away, Treowe takes off the rest of his garments, and then steps down into a steaming, bubbling bathing pool. He sinks into what is effectively a hot tub and leans back against the edge of the pool, sighing in contentment as the hot water sooths his tired form. A small smile spreads across his face. Despite how guilty he felt for what he'd had to do to Hella, at least something good had come from it.

He very much doubted, short of erasing most of Hella's memory from the past year, that it would be possible for Dumbledore to ever repair the relationship he'd once had with the Girl-Who-Lived.

 _Weak is the faith that cannot withstand being tested._

In all fairness, Dumbledore had done most of his work for him, for anyone who wanted to take Hella away from him, really. None of this would have been possible if the Headmaster hadn't been so keen on keeping all of the cards so close to his chest that he repeated the same mistakes he'd been making all his life.

He had fully expected that after the Headmaster released him to leave with his permission, that he would then be waylaid somewhere between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. Perhaps by an overprotective Sirius Black, aiming to protect Hella's virtue from the 'slimy', 'dark' Slytherin. And of course, once Treowe was outside of Hogwarts' grounds, anything that happened to him would no longer be Dumbledore's fault.

Heh, what he hadn't expected was Hella trying and failing to sneak up on him under an Invisibility Cloak of all things. Luckily, he was the kind of man who was always prepared. The lemon drops that he'd ended up filching from Dumbledore's office had revealed his pursuer… and Hella was lucky that he'd started with a stunner, because really, her absolutely abysmal failure at trying to be stealthy deserved to be punished. Treowe would be sure to do so.

Unfortunately, that did leave him with the next little while to spend alone with his thoughts. That wasn't normally something he would be all that concerned about, but when he'd just been recently violated by an old man… well. He knew damn well what the entitled old bastard had tried to do to him. He'd fucking felt it as Dumbledore attempted to sift through his mind, forcing him to think of memories that he normally wouldn't think of.

Luckily, his memories of him sitting in front of a television playing video games for hours on end from his past life had gone unnoticed by the arrogant wizard, who couldn't fathom that memories of muggle entertainment could in any way be important to his quest. Despite the fact that in those memories, Treowe had been playing a game that hadn't come out yet on a console that didn't even exist yet. Thank fucking Merlin that the mind-readers of this world were ignorant wizards, stuck in their ways.

Likewise, lusting after his elder sisters was also overlooked. After all, he was from an old family of Purebloods. Other families were known for inbreeding and had resorted to incest time and time again in the name of keeping their blood 'pure'. In all fairness, House Morton had never resorted to such practices in all their history, preferring to diversify their gene pool even without truly understanding what genes were. But Albus didn't know that. The old fuck didn't know anything.

Even now, Treowe's dick remained painfully hard, and it had made walking away from Hella before he'd truly finished with her rather difficult. Even now, his tail came up to his shaft under the bubbling water and stroked it on occasion in anticipation of another go. But Treowe doubted that Hella would be able to free herself and join him before the time rant out. Because he had left her with the 'obvious' solution, Hella would spend all of her time working on that. Relying on Grangers intelligence for so many years had left her mind somewhat lazy.

But back to fucking Dumbledore… it was the last memory in particular that had pissed him off. The last memory that Albus fucking Dumbledore had forced him to remember, forced him to relive. He'd had to watch his Uncle Thomas be gored, trampled, and eaten alive by Bicorns all over again! Treowe's only solace was in the fact that even Dumbledore couldn't stomach the full details and had cut the memory short before he could see it all.

The Headmaster was too squeamish to watch all the gory details. Like for instance, the fact that Treowe had been forced to watch it all, frozen in horror, as his Uncle screamed and gurgled at the pain of being disemboweled. Even now, he could remember it so very vividly. His uncle's wand had been near his feet, and while Treowe had been aware of it, he'd done nothing about it… for a great many reasons. Shock and terror were prominent, sure… but there were also fark darker reasons, and Treowe knew that some of those reasons had played their part in his sorting into Slytherin.

His father had become Lord Morton, Treowe himself had become Heir Morton, and the Bicorn that had killed and consumed his Uncle had grown into one big bastard of a herd leader. Everyone had profited, in a way… and while Treowe was just a boy, while he hadn't actually played any part in causing his Uncle's death… he'd still let it happen, not even trying to do anything.

The only thing he remembered most of all from that day, besides the long wait before someone actually found him, was the chill of the black wind blowing, right before his Uncle had been gored. Which, in fact, brought Treowe right back to the subject of Hella's Invisibility Cloak. Supposedly, it was THE Cloak of Invisibility, made by Death himself.

Having looked it over, having thoroughly investigated it while the Potter Heiress had slept, using his wand to cast numerous spells upon it… he'd found no emblem to mark it as a Hallow. He'd felt no black wind emanating from it, like he had that day in the field. Now, Treowe wasn't so confident or arrogant to say that THE Cloak of Invisibility didn't exist somewhere, nor was he going to try to claim that Death hadn't created the Deathly Hallows.

Truth be told, the Tale of the Three Brothers sounded EXACTLY like the Death he was most familiar with from movies like Final Destination. Wizards and Witches had an arrogance to them that made them act like all of their power meant nothing existed above them. Even Dumbledore believed that Ignotus and his brothers had created the three artifacts, rather than Death itself. Treowe wasn't so sure.

But he WAS sure that what he held in his hands was an Invisibility Cloak, not THE Cloak of Invisibility. Realizing this actually felt pretty good, because it cleaned up all the major plot-holes surrounding Harry (or Hella in this world) and his exploits from the books and movies. Like how an Invisibility Cloak that was supposed to be able to hide you from DEATH of all things could be countered by a magical eye, or spells, or even Dementors.

It made sense, in the end. After all, if he'd been Dumbledore and already possessed one of the Deathly Hallows, only to be given another one by one of his follows unknowingly dropping it right into his lap… he would have kept the damn thing. Because Treowe did still believe that THE Cloak of Invisibility had been in Potter hands at some point in the last century. He'd done his research.

And now he'd made Hella aware of this new-old betrayal of Dumbledore's. Once he got home, after he was done here, he could make arrangements to purge the rest and heal her of anymore of Dumbledore's lies. He was going to enjoy seeing his sisters interact with Hella, and he was going to enjoy seeing Hella interact with his sisters.

But first… they had a punishment to get through.

-x-X-x-

Still kneeling there on the ground, the bondage she's in squeezing her breasts and restraining her arms, Hella… doesn't really move at all. Tears slowly drip from her eyes, while Treowe's excess cum dries across her body, but Hella couldn't care less about the state of her naked form, or even her captivity. The revelation that her father's cloak was not actually her father's cloak… it had broken her.

And even now, it was still draped across her shoulders. She wished that Treowe had taken it with him, to be honest. Gazing into the distance, not really focusing on anything, she finds herself remembering everything that had happened in her First Year in an entirely different light. From receiving the Invisibility Cloak on Christmas morning, to sneaking into the Restricted Section after dark, to somehow ending up in the one room that held the Mirror of Erised while hiding from Filch and Snape.

The hours she'd spent just staring into that mirror, taking in what it had to offer her… she would have paid any price to just be able to fall through that mirror right then and there to be with her parents. It was… it was a wound that had scabbed over, only to be torn open anew now that she realized it was all even more of a set up than she'd initially thought.

Such a powerful and dangerous artifact, just let out in the open in an abandoned classroom so close to the library… of course it'd been a trap. And she'd fallen right into it, not even realizing until all these years later how Dumbledore had played her like a fiddle. He'd toyed with her; he'd coaxed her onto the path that HE wanted her to take. And for what? What the hell was he aiming for? What was the Headmaster's endgame?

Something sweet is slipped in between her lips as she pants through her open mouth, and Hell mechanically bites down, eating it. As the House Elf feeds her strawberry tart after strawberry tart, Hella eats them. She also drinks whatever is put into her mouth, without even really tasting or enjoying it. Her eyes remain staring off into the distance, completely unfocused and not straying from that direction. She knew that if her eyes deviated, she would catch sight of the silvery underside of the garment Treowe has left inside out draped over her shoulders, and then it would hurt all over again.

Eventually though, the pain emanating from her stomach eventually breaks Hella's lifeless gazing off into the distance. The pain was not that unfamiliar, it was a sort of pain that she'd been getting more and more used to as the year went by. One that she had rare felt before coming to Hogwarts, and even before meeting Treowe. It was the feeling of her stomach being almost discomfortingly full after a satisfying meal, and as she finally looks down at the almost distended nature of her otherwise flat stomach, Hella can't help but almost understand why her cousin and uncle ate the way they did.

She really shouldn't have ignored the House Elf that had been feeding her, because apparently, they'd kept on feeding her until she was stuffed to the brim. It was rather tempting for her to just lay back and let herself fall into a bit of a food coma after such a meal. Her stomach certainly wanted a chance to settle. Hella almost did just that, before her eyes caught sight of the hourglass over on the table, with the amount of sand about half-gone by this point.

Oh, that horny, cheating bastard! Hella's body heats up with both lust and anger as she realizes that Treowe has stacked the game against her. He'd had the House Elves feed her strawberry tarts so she wouldn't be able to do anything to free herself until after the time ran out! She was going to… she was going to get him! His damn plan wasn't going to work! She wouldn't let it!

She would get free of this, and then she would ride him in any position she wanted until he passed out from exhaustion! Luckily, he'd left her a way out, right on the table next to the hourglass. Staring at her wand with determination and focus filling her gaze, Hella reaches within herself, and brings forth her metamorphic magic, the only real magic she has available to herself at the moment.

Enlarging her stomach a bit might not have been something most would have thought of as an option, but for Hella, it was. Taking the edge off her fullness, Hella attempts to stand up… only to fall breast first onto the rug beneath her, smooshing her tits into the fuzzy material, her stiffened nipples teased in the worst way and her breast squeezed from the movement as the binding she was in tightened rapidly.

A muffled cry leaves Hella's lips, but she can be thankful that at least it wasn't her distended belly that got hit. She really didn't want to throw up all over the floor. For a brief moment, the young witch doesn't move, just taking a second to breathe and concentrate before she tried anything else. Slowly, Hella looks up at the end table. With her face now next to the ground, her hourglass and her wand were no longer visible.

Unfortunately, with her ankles tied and in even a worse position to attempt to stand up now, Hella was sure that there was only one way for her to reach the end table in time. Only one way for her to escape her bondage and teach Treowe the lesson he so richly deserved! Taking a deep breath to prepare herself, Hella slowly brings her knees up to her breasts… and then pushes her body forward.

The squeezing, rubbing, and tightening that all happen at once result in an explosion of pleasure and pain across her entire form, followed by her body shuddering and spasming even further in response to that. It's a feedback loop that Hella can't escape from, but it IS one she can somewhat ignore, as hard as that is. Slowly but surely, she pushes herself forward despite the bondage set-up Treowe has left her in. Slowly but surely, she inches her away across the floor towards the end table.

And yes, it is in inches that Hella manages to scoot herself forward on her tits and knees. And yes, she knows what she looks like too. She can picture how stupid it is in her mind's eye, and while some of the humiliation is a turn on, much of it is not. He wasn't even here to SEE it, d-damn it! If he was, if he was watching her, Hella might have actually been more aroused in her embarrassing state than angry, as odd as that was.

But no, he'd left her to suffer alone, and for that, Hella was going to make Treowe pay, oh yes, she was. She was going to get her wand, and she was going to get free. Even if that meant crawling across the floor like a damn caterpillar, inching her way over to the end table where she knew her wand sat next to the hourglass.

As she finally makes it there, Hella rests against the edge of the end table with intense, laboring breaths. It takes a moment for her to catch any semblance of her breath after what she's just experienced, but eventually, the last of the sensations flowed out of her body. With a lustful, angry growl, Hella rams her body against the end table. It rocks, but her wand is not displaced as she intended. So, she does it again. And again.

In the end, the third time turns out to be the charm. Her wand rolls off the top of the end table and bounces off her body. Grinning in tired triumph as she lays eyes on it, Hella moves into position so that she can reach down behind herself and take hold of her wand. The words to free herself from her bondage are already on her lips, and fantasies of what she's about to do to Treowe play out in her mind.

All of that fizzles and dies however, when she finally closes her hand around her wand. Because, in reality, it's not her wand. It takes Hella a moment to comprehend what's been done. When she takes up the stick that'd rolled off the night stand, that looked so much like her wand, she feels nothing. No magic, no answering phoenix song. There's no sparks. No… nothing. The feeling of being joined back together, the thrum of power in her veins… it's not there.

Because this isn't her wand. This is a stick. A stupid, dumb stick, either conjured or transfigured to look like her wand. Dropping the useless stick to the ground, Hella looks up, and now that she's close enough, she can see the sands in the hourglass have run out. Releasing an exhausted sigh at all her wasted efforts, Hella's anger spikes at how Treowe has cheated her, though most of her irritation is directed at herself for losing in the first place.

At the same time, all those fantasies of getting back at the older wizard are evaporating like so much hot air, being replaced by her imagination tempting her with all the things he would be doing to her, once he came back from where ever he'd walked off to. Hella blushes beautifully as her body heats up all over again from the new fantasies blossoming in her mind.

Was it really losing, if she was going to enjoy what came next regardless of whether she was on top or bottom?

-x-X-x-

Her attention must have drifted, or she dozed off, because one moment Hella was staring up at the ceiling, and the next she was staring up at Treowe as he looked down at her with a frown marring his handsome face. Her eyes drift from his after a moment, down to his erect and ready manhood. Her tongue traces out to lick at her puffy, full lips in anticip-

"Heiress Potter."

His words snap her attention back up to his face, his tone angry and sad at the same time, leaving Hella squirming in embarrassment and guilt, as if she'd done something wrong. Which, maybe she had. She'd tried to stalk him and failed. And now she'd failed here too.

"I am disappointed in you."

A shiver runs down Hella's spine, and her gut twists in ways that it never had before when she was around him. She didn't want Treowe to be disappointed in her. She didn't want him to hate her, or even dislike her. She needed him. She needed his love.

"I gave you an entire hour to free yourself, and this is all you have to show for it?"

His eyes drift purposefully off to the side, where he'd left her, and then back to her, traveling the course of her journey inching across the floor all the way up to the end table.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

He sounds like a damn Professor, and for a moment a spark of anger blossoms in Hella's chest, and she's able to muster up a glare of defiance in the face of him daring her to give a sufficient explanation for her so-called failure.

"You cheated!"

It's a knee jerk reaction, really. But then, he'd stacked the deck against her from the start in order to win, hadn't he? She was well within her rights to be angry, wasn't she? She was well within her rights to be upset! Treowe doesn't seem to think so, though. For a brief moment, he stares at her incredulously, her reply seeming to leave him gobsmacked. Then, he snorts in amusement, before moving onto chuckling, after which he breaks out into full-blown laughter for the next several moments.

Hella's anger dies and is swiftly replaced by embarrassment as she flushes with shame. After all, had he not taught her better than that? One moment Treowe is laughing, and the next he's kneeling over her, glaring down into her eyes as one of his hands tightly grips her hair to focus her gaze on his face.

"First of all, what you idiotic Gryffindors call 'cheating', everyone else calls using every advantage you have to win. This was no duel, with hard rules, nor was this a Quidditch match. Losing here… if it had been anyone but me, could have meant the end of your life or your freedom, Hella."

And there's the guilt again, because she knows Treowe is only angry with her because he was afraid for her. She knows that he loves her, and that he worries about her, and that she's disappointed him and left him concerned that she's going to get herself hurt. Given her track record these past few years before they finally got together, his worries are not without merit.

"Second, do you think for one moment that if you HAD actually been captured by one of your enemies, that they would have been even half as merciful as I have been? Do you think they would have given you a chance to free yourself and escape?! Your failure to get free isn't because I 'cheated', it's because you failed. Your life has been threatened year after year, and yet still you remain reactionary, never preparing yourself for the danger before it's already upon you."

Hella stares up into Treowe's eyes in silence, not even daring to swallow past the lump in her throat as he continues on.

"What did you expect from me, Hella? I am a Slytherin, after all. We're supposed to be cunning, resourceful, and altogether ambitious. Malfoy and his ilk are not very good examples of our House, but then, perhaps it's more that I'm an outlier in a world of morons. Even still, this, right here? Tricking you to win our little game? I was barely scratching the surface of what I could have done to keep you here indefinitely."

He pauses then, giving her a few moments to think on what he'd said. Then, he reaches down and gropes and squeezes one of her breasts for a moment. And in that moment, his tone becomes tender, soft, caring. She sees the man she loves with all her heart, beneath the disappointment and anger and fear for her.

"Have you had enough, Hella? Or should we continue?"

There he was, offering her a chance to end this… again. But, Hella had already disappointed him twice. First with failing to sneak up on him, and then now, given the chance to free herself and failing all over again. She didn't… she didn't want him to think she was weak. She needed to show him she could take it, that she could handle the punishment. She refused to use the safe word, just to get out of this now.

After seeing the resolve in her eyes, Treowe inclines his head in acknowledgement.

"Well then, let's finish up your 'punishment', so that we can move onto your lesson."

Reaching under her armpits, Treowe stands up and pulls her to her feet at the same time. At this point, Hella's legs don't really want to cooperate, so he has to actively drag her over to the couch again. He doesn't seem to mind all that much though, manhandling her into position so that she's pulled down across his lap. His erection prods at her stomach and Hella shifts about in her bindings, squirming as he runs a hand over her bum. She knows what's coming next, and half of her is looking forward to it… but Treowe pauses, speaking instead of delivering a spanking to her.

"First, you made the mistake that most wizards and witches make when it comes to their wands. It's understandable though, you have that same belief ingrained within you that the rest of them have. To be honest, it's why I dislike the whole Hogwarts schooling system, if I'm being honest. It teaches reliance on wands and nothing else. But then, it's how the Ministry of Magic keeps the wizarding world in line, I suppose. You think that without your wand, you're powerless. You focused so completely on regaining the implement that the wizarding world has shackled you with that you ignored all other solutions to freeing yourself."

All while he speaks, Treowe's hand is squeezing and kneading her ass, a finger stroking at her slit. He's playing with her, and while Hella is trying desperately to focus on his words, because they seem pretty damn important, she's having a hard time of it, if she's being honest. She wants him to slide that finger right up into her cunt then and there…

"Now, can you tell me where we are, Hella?"

In her distracted state, as she laid there across his lap utterly relaxed, enjoying his casual touch, her answer comes a little too slow for Treowe's liking. Before she can speak, Hella finds herself crying out as she receives a powerful slap across the bottom from Treowe's big, masculine hand.

SMACK!

Her body jumps from the impact, which in turn pulls on her bindings as well as sliding her stomach over his erection. And he hadn't aimed for the cushioning of her bum either, but instead had come up under it so he was half-spanking her ass and half-spanking her nethers with his palm. He draws back, and Hella tenses up, before his palm comes down again. He delivers a rapid-fire string of spankings to Hella, even as he speaks, one word at a time.

"YOU!"

SMACK!

"ARE!"

SMACK!

"IN!"

SMACK!

"THE!"

SMACK!

"ROOM!"

SMACK!

"OF!"

SMACK!

"REQUIREMENT!"

He stops with the final word, squeezing her sore ass cheeks with both hands quite brutally. A scream tears its way out of Hella's throat as she climaxes EXPLOSIVELY from the intense sensations, he's just caused within her. She barely has a moment to recover before she was being pulled off his lap and up onto her feet. Treowe twists her bound form around, and before Hella's eyes, a table covered in knives and daggers appears.

"Had you taken a moment to think, had you taken the time to focus on anything other than you wand, you could have easily asked the Room of Requirement for any number of bladed implements to cut yourself free of your binding!"

Hella stares at the table of blades dumbly for a moment, even as weapon racks appear next to the table on either side, containing everything from short swords to halberds.

"You have SEEN me summon suits of armor to spar with. You could have summoned one of them to cut you loose if you didn't trust yourself with a blade in your bound state! You could have done a million different things with all the power that the Room of Requirement offers you at your fingertips! All you saw, however, was where I placed what you thought was your wand. A Red Herring that you fell for, hook line and sinker!"

Biting her lower lip, Hella trembles under his angry tirade. Mostly because he's right, of course.

"You survived more than half your life without a wand and without magic, Hella Potter, but now, just like every other wizard and witch in this school, you believe that you can't function without it!"

His chastisement has the intended effect. Hella hangs her head in shame at his words, even as she remembers a time when she had been unimpressed by how dependent the magical world seemed to be on their wands, how they seemed to use spells for just about everything. And now? Now she'd fallen into the same trap. She was guilt of the same laziness that the rest of them showed.

The weapons all vanish and so do the racks and the table. Treowe frog-marches her forward across the room as several large mirrors appear and reflect their naked forms back at them. Hella stares at herself, and at Treowe. He stands behind her, his erection rubbing against her tender butt. Glancing to either side of her has mirrors positioned to show this, to reveal what she already felt was happening.

"Look at yourself, Hella. Do you know what I see?"

Biting her lower lip, Hella just stares, not trusting herself to speak. She looks at her large breasts, made all the more prominent by the binding around their base, she looks at her stiff and puffy nipples, poking forward. God, she looks like such a slut…

"I see a beautiful, powerful, and highly skilled witch. I see a witch that when she takes a moment to THINK, she is truly, utterly brilliant. I see a young woman that I am honored and blessed every day to have the companionship of."

His hands start at her hips and move their way up to her breasts as Hella shivers at both his praise and touch, struggling at this point to keep up with Treowe's constant attitude changes. He's gone from cold to hot to cold to hot again in so many different ways so fast over the last little while, and Hella doesn't know what to think anymore.

For a brief time, he just gropes her tits. Then, he twists harshly at her nipples.

"Do you think this is the body you would have if your development was in any way natural, Hella? Do you think your bests would have ever grown this big on their own?"

He squeezes her breasts, and then moves on from them.

"Do you think your butt would bounce and jiggle like this?"

He turns her around so that her ass is facing the mirror and slaps it hard as she stares back at it over her shoulder, watching it jiggle from the impact.

"Or that your hips would be this wide and have their eye-catching sway?!"

His fingers trace along them for a moment, before Treowe finally gets to the point he's trying to make.

"You are a metamorphmagus, Hella! I know that you're rather new to that realization, but even still! Your body is quickly developing into your ideal image of what you want to be, at a rate that would be otherwise impossible if not for your abilities. All you had to do was take the time to shrink your body down enough that you could have slipped free from your bindings!

That has Hella hanging her head. She hadn't even considered that… and yet she HAD used that very magic to alleviate the fullness of her stomach, after the House Elves had finished feeding her. Treowe spins her back around and tilts her head back with two fingers under her chin, lifting her gaze up so that he can stare down into her green irises with his dark brown eyes.

"You have quite a lot of tools in your wheelhouse, Heiress Potter. All of your abilities, all of your skills, all of your magic… it can all make for some powerful assets, if you just take the time to think, to plan ahead how to best use them in a given situation. Instead of instinctively reacting to any situation you might find yourself in."

He finishes his quiet chastisement by pulling her into a huge, and Hella finds herself resting against his chest, even as his erection prods her in the belly.

"Mankind are only on top on this planet because they learned to use tools in the first place, Hella. Your magic is just another tool, to be used when others fail you."

Sighing deeply, seemingly running out of steam, Treowe strokes her hair for several long moments, leaving her to contemplate his lesson. Not that the lesson was unfamiliar to her. She felt like she'd heard it already from several different places. But none of them had managed to pound it quite into her skull like Treowe was doing now. Even still, Hella couldn't resist the temptation to squirm a little and rub herself against him, because honestly, he'd been teasing and provoking her in THAT way since she'd woken up.

Her efforts pay off quickly. Treowe goes still for a moment, and then lifts her head up so he can kiss her. Searing lips capture her own, followed by his tongue invading her mouth, probing about and proceeding to do an inspection of her oral cavity. She enjoys it, but eventually whines, as there's plenty of lower 'cavities' that remain unfulfilled.

Sensing her needs, Treowe breaks their kiss and suddenly a leg hooks behind her, causing Hella to fall back onto the shag rug that's laid out beneath her. Blushing deeply, Hella tries her best to show off her body as Treowe leers over her, though when he gets down on his knees and lifts her legs up into the air, she stills, watching him with bated breath.

He spreads her legs wide and then pushes them back down towards her body, folding her up even as he sheathes himself inside of her soaking, eager core. Hella moans as Treowe begins to pound into her, taking her in a mating press, right then and there. But that's not all she does. She might be tied up; this might be a punishment… but she won't be passive.

Taking Treowe's lessons to heart, she uses her metamorphmagus abilities to cause her cunt to shift and mold around his cock, letting her tighten up harder than ever before, while also sucking him in so that it takes him just a bit more effort to pull back out of her. She also further adjusts her body to better contort into the position that he's put her in, making herself more flexible so that she's not experiencing nearly as much discomfort.

He fucks her long and hard, and Hella's head eventually tilts back when his mouth falls on her tits, his lips suctioning at her nipples one after the other as he worships her breast. She stares at herself and Treowe upside down in the mirror right behind her, and the sight of the two of them makes her blush brilliantly. A glance to the side shows it even better. The reflections all around them make her look like an unwilling virgin sacrifice, and they make Treowe look like a damn demon, given the horns and the thick spaded tail.

Minus the virgin part, of course, as she'd already sacrificed that to the love of her life months ago, now hadn't she? Hell, minus the unwilling part as well. Hella moans wantonly, and happily does her best to thrust her hips back up into Treowe's thick cock as he presses down on her from above again and again. She doesn't let the bondage stop her, though Treowe is quick to put her back in line as she gets a little… uppity.

His hands are gripping her legs, and his mouth is on her breast. His cock is buried in her extremely wet snatch. But he still has his tail. The spade tail comes about and whips down on Hella's clit, as he continues to fuck her, and she knows immediately that it's simple another part of the punishment. It still makes her howl though, the sting some of the sharpest, but also most pleasurable pain she's ever experienced.

He keeps doing it, as it makes her clench all the tighter around his cock, bringing her to orgasm after orgasm as he fucks her and punishes her all at once. That's fine though, Hella knows she deserves it. Just as she knows Treowe forgives her for her failures, and his disappointment is only temporary. It's something she can overcome, something she can put behind her. She WILL make him proud. She WILL prove herself worthy of his love.

Needless to say, she loses her mind, at least temporarily. He just keeps on fucking her, and all of Hella's earlier fantasies about riding him until he passed out seem a little silly now, given it's she who very nearly passes out before he's finally done with her. He fills her with his cum once, then twice, and then thrice. And by the time that third release comes around, Hella is barely conscious, until he casts an enervate on her.

Apparently done for the time being, Treowe pulls out of her, leaving her belly bloated even more with the fullness of her womb, as it held on to as much of his seed as it could possibly collect for her. Her subconscious mind had used her metamorphmagus abilities to practically close up her cunt as he slipped free of her, and none of his seed is leaving until she says so.

She's still bound though, even as Treowe helps her up to her feet. Hella groans and moans, not really feeling up to standing, but he's insistent, and at least once she's finally up on her feet, he doesn't let go of her. He has an arm around her shoulders, and his spade tail around her waist as he leans in close, nuzzling her neck.

"Now then, one final lesson, Hella. It's time to talk about the simplest way you could have escaped from your bindings."

Hella groans tiredly. She just… she just wanted to get cleaned up and lay down and rest for a day or two. Was that so much to ask?

"What is the name of that colorful House Elf that practically worships the ground you walk on, Heiress Potter?"

It takes a moment for his words to permeate, takes a moment for his lecturing 'Professor' tone to truly hit her. Frowning, Hella looks at Treowe in confusion.

"You mean Dobby-?"

Before she could even finish the sentence, she was quickly interrupted by a loud pop, and Dobby the House Elf suddenly appearing before them in his mismatched wardrobe of clothes.

"Great and Wonderful Mistress Hella Potter has called Dob-!"

At first, Dobby rather loudly and worshipfully began to praise her… and then he actually took in her state of dress and cut himself off in the middle of his own name, squeaking loudly before using his hands to fold his large ears over his equally large eyes.

"Dobby is very sorry for interrupting Mistress Hella Potter and Master Treowe Morton's fun time! Dobby was just so excited for Mistress Hella Potter to call his name!"

The hyperactive elf bounced, literally and figuratively, between apologizing, being excited to be called, and contemplating punishing himself for interrupting them. As he continued on, Hella found herself floored by the stream of words coming from the diminutive friend she'd made back in Second Year. Looking to Treowe, who appeared to be quite amused at Dobby's antics, Hella watches as he looks down at her bindings, and then shifts his gaze over to the chattering, hopping House Elf.

And then Hella gets it. And boy does she feel like a damn moron now.

"Most Wizards and Witches never think of House Elves as anything more than background servants, dealing with their messes and their trash and their chores. But to those that are smart enough to befriend them, there is no greater or more loyal ally that you could ever wish for… in ANY situation."

Her ears are burning as they take in Treowe's ears, and she knows her face is bright red too. And not just because Dobby had seen her in such a compromising position.

"Dobby! Dobby, would you please remove the bindings on me? I can't-!"

Once again, she doesn't finish the sentence before, with a snap of his fingers, Dobby frees her from her bondage entirely, leaving her completely free for the first time in hours. The first thing Hella does, even as she stumbles forward on truly unsteady legs and practically falls to her knees in the process, is hug Dobby to her chest in gratitude.

The House Elf proceeds to shudder intensely and go limp in her arms, and Hella pulls back in horror, for a moment worrying that she's killed him. But then Treowe lets out a low whistle of surprise behind her.

"Damn. Haven't ever seen a House Elf pass out from sheer gratitude overload before. Heard about it, read about it, but this is the first time I've witnessed it happen. That little guy is going to be with you for life, Hella… even if you don't bond him to your family like you should."

Looking between Treowe and Dobby's unconscious form, which is now wearing a blissed-out smile across his face, Hella blushes and bites her lip, but can't help smiling as well. A moment later, she sets him down on the couch, grabbing up the inside-out Invisibility Cloak from where it'd fallen to the floor and tossing it over him as a blanket.

"Come, Hella. Let's get you cleaned up in the bath. I have potions ready for you to take care of the blood flow and the bruising."

Hella takes his outstretched hand even as her smile grows broader still across her face. As they make their way to the bath, and Treowe proceeds with the aftercare, she lets herself relax into his arms. She'd learned a lot today… and more importantly, she'd had a lot of fun doing it.

 **-x-X-x-**

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 **Thanks for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

By the time Treowe had reached the Morton Estate, it was rather late at night and most of his family was already slumbering peacefully. To be fair, Treowe hadn't given any advance notice of his impending arrival, not wanting to alert any would be enemies to his coming anymore than they already were. So, it wasn't like he was expecting them all to wait up for him, or anything like that.

Though he did notice on his approach, flying in on Thestral-back under the Invisibility Cloak Hella had all but thrown at him to take before his departure, that the lights were on in his eldest sister Leala's brewing lab, which while beneath the earth, also had some basement windows close to the ground to allow sunlight in during the day, and moonlight in during the night.

Even still, Treowe didn't bother alerting her to his arrival either. If she was up this late brewing potions, then not only would they be very time sensitive elixirs, they would likely also require every ounce of her attention. Instead, Treowe makes sure to stable the Thestral, orders the Morton House Elves to tend to it properly, has them relay a message to his parents that he'd arrived once they woke up for breakfast in the morning, and then made his way to his room, where he'd stripped naked and fallen into his own bed to sleep for the first time in far, far long.

Needless to say, it was easy to pass out on his bed like that, like returning to an old lover once more, even if really, it was just a mattress. Ah, but much like most things in the magical world, it was a magical mattress, the bed enchanted to not only grow with him, but take into account his body's woes and worries. Treowe falls asleep to the sensation of his bed going to work on all the knots of tension and discomfort lining his back and his limbs and even his buttocks. It was a full body massage, but better than anything the muggle world could ever have come up with. After all… it was magical.

Sometime later, however, Treowe finds himself woken up again. Groggy as all hell, given that he was in the middle of a deep, restful slumber, the wizard nonetheless finds himself blinking open bleary eyes as his senses, one by one, alert him to a presence in his bedroom with him. The first sense to alert him was his sniffer, as a strong, alluring, enticing, and altogether spicy scent floods his nostrils. Said nostrils flare, and Treowe breathes in deeply, taking more and more of the smell into himself.

His body immediately begins heating up, and the young man starts to pant somewhat breathlessly. The next sense to be alerted is his sense of touch, as Treowe finally registers that not only is there someone else in his room with him, they're actually on top of him, feminine mounds pressing into his stomach, smooth delicate hands massaging his balls as magic courses into his gonads, and a long, inhuman tongue lapping at his cock.

Each tongue stroke hardens his prick even more, even press of digits into his balls makes them swell further still. His erection is grown to a hardness and a length that would have pierced right through his boxers, if he'd actually worn any to bed. In mere moments, Treowe has an utterly horrid case of blue balls, and his hard cock is pulsating and throbbing with sheer NEED in a way it hasn't ever since he went to Hogwarts, not even with Hella, as much as he loved the girl.

Treowe's vision finally clears at exactly the same moment that a pair of lips, a very familiar pair of lips, finally wrap around the head of his prick. The first thing he sees is the sight of a bubbly butt right in front of him. From that bubbly butt extends a pair of smooth, creamy legs splitting to either side of his head, while a whip-like tail ending in a spade shape waves around in the air directly above him. Treowe is less focused on the tail and more on the wet slit with its pussy juices flowing right onto his chest, as well as the tight, impeccable rosebud right above it though.

A groan leaves the wizard's mouth as more and more of his cock is swallowed up by those lips down at his crotch. Said lips had only teased the head of his member for a few moments before going deeper still. Involuntarily, his hips buck upwards, forcing more of his cock meat between those wonderful lips and lapping tongue.

The saliva of the Succubus sucking on his dick works as an aphrodisiac, giving him an almost painful hard on… but that didn't mean Treowe's mind wasn't as crystal clear as ever. After all, he'd had a long time to get used to the effects of this particular magical creature.

"Fuck, Zari! Couldn't this wait until morning?!"

His exclamation is half exasperated cry and half groan, even as the cock-sucking whore of a Succubus continues to work her way up and down his shaft. It was obvious that Zari had missed his dick in particular very much in the months since Hogwarts resumed. To be fair, she'd effectively been his cock-sucking fuck toy of a cum dump since his first wet dream, so it was only expected that she would be a little… addicted. After all, that was the only way to truly handle Succubi, at the end of the day. You had to addict them, before they addicted you.

Regardless, in response to his exclamation, Zari begins to hum, deep in her throat. The vibrations that flow up his cock as her reply push Treowe right over the edge, and he groans as he brings his hips up, wrapping one of his naked legs behind Zari's head and forcing the entirety of his cock into her mouth and down her throat. He doesn't stop until the flare of her nostrils sucking in and breathing out air tickles his swollen balls, which she continues to massage and coax fuller even now.

Growling, Treowe reaches up with his arms and wraps them around her legs, groping her bum even as he drags her down a couple of inches, while at the same time lifting his head up to bring his face closer to her dripping cunt. She lets out a muffled squeak as his tongue lashes out at her soaking wet box, but Treowe barely pays her any mind. If she didn't want to talk, then fine, he would communicate with her in a language he KNEW she would understand.

Greedily lapping at Zari's pussy juices, Treowe is quickly rewarded by his efforts resulting in an even greater flooding of fluids, making her scent all the stronger as his experienced, practiced tongue repeatedly strikes and strokes her sweet spots. He hears a 'whoosh!' sound as her wings fully extend from his tongue work, and with a messy grin, he dives in deeper, the act of lapping no longer sufficient to collect the sheer amount of honey flowing from Zari's honey pot.

Instead, Treowe moves in to feast, his mouth pressing into her quivering quim and his tongue sliding deep into her cunt as he sucks the fluids out of her body. His own body burns with a desperate need for more, her scent filling his nostrils even further as they flared for air just as much as Zari's currently was. Her legs in turn wrap around his head and keep it close to her cunt, and in response, Treowe slides his own spade tail out from under himself and wraps it around Zari's neck, squeezing gently but firmly along her throat, even as he continues to use his thigh to hold her buried between HIS legs.

Thrusting his hips, Treowe reminds Zari of just who's in charge here, while also forcing her back a bit so he can still breath in one fell swoop. Of course, that doesn't mean she's done testing the water, and what follows is a back and forth of them thrusting and humping one another as his body built up to his release, and she in turn continually soaked him in her own.

One of Zari's hands suddenly grasps at the base of Treowe's thick tail, stroking and squeezing it along the length, revealing points of pleasure he hadn't even been aware of. His leg relaxes slightly, freeing Zari's head to rapidly bob up and down the length of his erection as her elongated demonic tongue circled, wrapped, and slide back and forth over his shaft along with the movements of her head.

It takes Treowe a few moments to adjust and get used to the movement before he can match it, but eventually, he does. They both pick up the pace as his body burns with the desperate desire to release, but luckily, Zari is in no way TRYING to tease him. Her actions tell a story of a Succubus desperately hungry for her Master's seed. Bringing both hands back to his balls, the magic that's been flowing into them all this time abruptly shifts and changes.

With a primal roar, Treowe finally cums. His seed floods into Zari's throat and down her gullet in a massive tidal wave or perhaps pressure hose of ejaculation, more than Treowe has ever released at once before now. And yet, the Succubus doesn't miss a beat, sucking it down with a thirst for cum that only a being such as she would know, greedily consuming every last drop. Nothing explodes out of her nose or the sides of her mouth, nothing leaves her body. Once she's drank his seed, it stays within her, and she can drink quite a lot.

Her legs release his head and Zari flops back down onto the pillows of his bed as the flow slowly begins to taper off, with her taking extra care to lap up and clean off his dick of any trace of his release, not wanting to miss a single drop of his seed. Only once she's SURE that she's done it all does Zari finally, slowly sit up, her creamy, pale form still quivering and trembling slightly as her tail lovingly strokes his face.

Half-turning to look over her shoulder at him, the Succubus smiles and licks her lips.

"Welcome home… Master."

She speaks in a breathy, panting moan, and Treowe can't help the pleasurable shiver that goes down his spine, all the way to his erection.

-x-X-x-

Zari's tail moves down from his face to Treowe's pecs, slowly tracing along them and brushing across his stiff nipples. Her bubbly, heart-shaped behind shifts and rubs into his stomach, smearing more of her aphrodisiac-like fluids across his body. At the same time, her fingers continue to delicately stroke along his cock length. One of her fingers slides across the top of his prick in particular as a bead of precum builds at his tip, and then she brings that messy finger up to her lips, seductively sucking the finger off as her eyes sparkle with mischievous delight.

"Mmmm… Master… how did you do it?! You taste and smell even better than before now!"

For a moment, she looks almost dangerous. She's picture-perfection in every way, the most seductive creature on the face of the planet, with a look in her eyes that says she knows it too, staring down at him through her long, golden locks of hair, as if she wanted to bind him to her and never let go… and then the moment is ruined by her sudden giggling.

It's a drunken, girlish giggle, and she loses some control over the potency of her sexual aura, leaving Treowe's head clearing up. He hadn't even realized his thoughts were being clouded until that moment. It wasn't a mistake that an experienced Succubus would make, but it was certainly something that could be expected from one that was immature. Zari still had another half a decade to go before her body, mind, and magic were fully matured.

Treowe knew that giggle quite well. His Succubus pet was effectively drunk, as whenever she drank or absorbed too much of his potent, magical semen, she usually got like this with him. Though, it usually took a lot more than him just cumming once to put her in such a state. Slightly bemused, and slightly amused as well, Treowe reaches up and grabs at the lower end of her veil of bright hair, which, nice and long, came to an end just above her lazily waving tail.

Tugging on it to get her attention, Treowe watches as she responds by trying to twist her body around even further, only to end up tumbling over onto him as she drunkenly twists too far and too fast for her fucked up equilibrium to keep up with. As she lands on him with another drunken giggle, Treowe can't help but compare his sex pet to Hella… and find her wanting, at least in one particular area. Her breasts are much smaller than Hella Potter's are.

"Hee-hee~ Master's been a naughty boy~"

Incredibly cum-drunk, Zari is still coherent enough to tease him, staring up at him with amber eyes as she curls into his chest, smiling drunkenly as she takes deep breaths of his scent, which is just as intoxicating for her as hers is for him.

"Mmm, managed to perform ritual sex magic at Hogwarts, didn't he?"

She walks her fingers up his chest, and yet, even here, her digits are all over the place, her index and middle fingers simulating legs that in turn seem to be drunken as she can't keep them straight for the life of her.

"Who's virginity did you take to make you so positively YUMMY, Master?"

Even as she wonders aloud at the specifics of the changes done to him, her slick slit continues to rub against his shaft, while her spade tail massages and kneads his balls. Treowe smiles down at his Succubus pet, even as he contemplates what to say to her. It would be pointless to tell Zari all about Hella Potter in her current state, all things considered. She probably wouldn't remember anything complex that he said at the moment. Luckily, he had a simple enough answer to give her.

"If my plans work out, pet… your future Mistress."

It takes a few seconds for his words to properly penetrate Zari's cum-drunk mind. When they finally do, the Succubus makes a big show of her reaction, pouting cutely, her eyes glistening tearfully. Her lips tremble for a brief moment before finally, she whines out.

"B-But I don't want to share any of your delicious, yummy cream with another girl, Master!"

This might have seemed like a relatively innocuous thing to say, and for a witch or even just a muggle woman, it would have been a perfectly reasonable thing to admit. For a Succubus bound to a wizard, however, it was tantamount to admitting to her intentions of one day trying to turn their relationship around on him, her intentions of dominating and enthralling him so that she could spirit him away to a life of luxury and debauchery… but one that would ultimately be a gilded cage, nonetheless.

Under any other circumstances, Zari would never admit to such a thing, but cum-drunk as she was right now, her lips were loose, and she was being far more truthful than was healthy for her. But at least she was being honest with her intentions towards him, unlike other all-female magical species, like Veela and Sirens. Still, it had to be nipped in the bed all the same.

Leveling his pet with a distinct glare, Treowe grasps Zari by her hips, noting the way her glazed eyes widen slightly as she finally catches up to what she herself said and realizes her mistake. He's tossing her off of both himself and his bed a moment later, where she lands on the carpet with a hefty thump.

"Owie! I landed on my tail, Master! … Kiss it and make it better, please?"

Treowe rolls his eyes and gets off of his bed as well, exiting it on the other side and moving over to the bedroom supplies. First, he opens up his potions cabinet and grabs and downs one of the more powerful concoctions. Second, he picks out the appropriate toys for this… lesson. The collar and leash alone would do for now. Closing the cabinet back up, Treowe spins about and journeys around the bed with quick, but purposeful steps.

By the time he reaches her, Zari has sat up. The young Succubus looks up at him, first to his erection and his throbbing ball sack, then to the collar and leash in his hands, and finally up to his face. Only once she's looking into his eyes does Treowe speak. He doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't yell. He speaks, but more accurately, he INTONES. His magic does the roaring for him, pressing down upon his pet from all sides.

"You were born to serve me, pet. You were conceived the day that my gender was discovered through magic in my mother's womb. I have personally fed and sustained you for half a decade. You will serve whoever I take as my wife, just as you would me. Just as your mother does for my parents, just as your family has done for my family for centuries."

Zari puts on an ashamed, fearful expression as he speaks, visibly trembling under the weight of his magic. At the same time however, her tail is waving behind her in the air most excitedly, giving away her true thoughts. When Treowe holds out the collar in front of her face, Zari reaches out with shaking fingers and takes it. The young Succubus snaps the collar around her neck of her own accord, and then leans in to nuzzle and lick at his equipment.

Treowe allows this for a few moments as she leans further and further forward. Then, he sidesteps around her right as she's opening her mouth to once again take him to the base, yanking hard on the leash as he does so. Zari falls to her hands and knees and ends up crawling along beside him as Treowe whips his tail out, slapping her ass again and again. Her hips naturally sway back and forth seductively on mere instinct, while her own tail straightens up and quivers in response to his control over her. At the same time, her pussy further dowses the carpet beneath her in her sexual emissions.

Sitting down at the end of the bed on her hands and knees, Zari opens her mouth nice and wide, eager for him to stick his dick in, but knowing that she's not allowed to initiate anything without his permission. Treowe watches her like this for a beat, and then his tail lashes out again, slapping across her small breasts and striking out at her cute pink nipples in particular, resulting in a feminine cry that's equal parts pain and pleasure.

"Up!"

His order is obeyed, even as he tugs on the leash, which is currently wrapped around his fist. Zari hurries to turn and climb up onto the bed, pausing again in doing so to shake her ass, with her tail curled up into the perfect position for him to grab at it and pull while he fucks her. Treowe just snorts, and then delivers two swift and harsh slaps to her ass.

"Up on the bed, pet!"

That has her resume her climbing, and shortly after, Zari is in position on shaking hands and knees, spread wide to present herself to him as she presses her face down into the bed and trembles in anticipation. Treowe eyes her for a moment, admiring her quivering flesh. There's no doubt about it, she's definitely ready for a good, hard fucking.

But he doesn't do that, not right away. Instead, when Treowe climbs onto the bed alongside her, he does everything EXCEPT fuck her. His fingers go to her cunt first, and he roughly and swiftly jabs three digits up into her wet pussy, causing Zari to cry out in pleasure and ecstasy… but there's a note of need to her voice that makes it all too clear she wants more than just what his fingers have to offer.

Treowe still doesn't give it to her, instead playing with her body. He fingers her cunt, he fingers her anus, he spanks her ass. He grabs and gropes her in all the right places, driving her crazy as Zari moans and whimpers and whines. The young Succubus TRIES to keep it to just those incoherent responses, she tries her best not to break… but as she always does, in the end, she succumbs. As she must, given her status as his pet. If she cannot submit, then she is too dangerous to be allowed in his household.

"P-Please, Master. Please! Zari is sorry! Zari was a bad girl! A-Ah, ah! Please, Zari needs c-coooock~"

She's no longer cum-drunk by the point where she finally begins begging for his dick. Nothing like a good collar-and-spank session to sober her right up. With his cock right beside her, with his scent and his magic filling the room and overwhelming her senses, Zari knows what she wants, just as she knows she can't have it without his say-so. So, she begs. She begs and grovels, even as Treowe doesn't dignify her words with a response, at least verbally.

Instead, his response is to continue to play with her body to his heart's content, even grabbing her tail and tugging on it, straight up in the air. He also tugs on the leash connected to the collar around her neck, bringing Zari's head up off of the bed more than once, choking her off in the middle of her begging quite a few times, forcing her to arch her back in a truly exquisite expression of seductive beauty, even as he continues to tease her for as long as he wants.

She is his. She belongs to him. That is the contract, but Succubi only make deals and contracts out of necessity. At the end of the day, it is important to remember that these are creatures of emotions more than anything else. If they think they can get away with something, they will. That's why Treowe has to do this. That's why he has to remind Zari of her place, because as much affection as he's come to have for her, she can and will jump at the chance to turn the tables on him. It's in her nature.

Treowe continues to fuck with Zari until she's tired out her voice. Only when she's no longer begging for his cock does the young wizard finally roll the exhausted Succubus over onto her back. His cock slams home into her cunt before she even fully comprehends the change, leading to her pleasured shrieks filling the room as he pounds her pussy with all his might, using the leash wrapped around his fist to pull and drop her into different positions.

Her tail wraps around his, and her face contorts into ecstasy as Treowe finally gives her what she desires, not on her terms, but on his own. Her place is beneath him, and despite their time apart, despite his absence, he's successfully re-taught her that lesson, shown her where she belongs. It's not long before Zari's eyes roll back in her head and her tongue lolls out of her mouth. Not long before she completely loses any semblance of composure, going from seductive to straight up lewd, going from sultry to outright fucked silly.

As she should be, of course. Zari is his, and someday soon, she might belong to Hella as well, if all goes well. And Treowe has no intention of letting either of them go.

-x-X-x-

Hours later, Treowe is left staring down at the soft, pale form of Zari. Her chest heaves with every breath, but it would be a more impressive sight if her breasts were just a few cup sizes larger. Her eyes are glazed over in her cum-drunken haze of pleasure, while her tail hangs limply off the foot of the bed. The Succubus herself makes unintelligible noises of burbling happiness as her hands rest upon and unconsciously stroke at the bump that had formed on her formerly flat stomach, where her body was greedily storing a truly impressive amount of his seed in her womb, to be absorbed later on.

Treowe himself is leaning over the bed for support, his cock and balls absolutely soaked from fucking her, the aphrodisiac aspect of her pussy juices ensuring that even now he remains hard and ready to go for another round, and another, and another. This is nothing new though, in all the times he had previously returned home from Hogwarts throughout these past several months, it usually took him about two days or so just to satisfy Zari. She was a Succubus, and Succubi preferred it straight from the tap over bottled any day of the week.

Regardless, he currently had the exact opposite of the usual problem that came with a sex marathon. The old saying was "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is spongy and weak" and yet, that wasn't the problem Treowe was having, no sir. Rather, it would be more accurate to say "The spirit is unenthusiastic, while the flesh is still hard and rigid."

His anger over Zari's casual, drunken admittance of her true desires had already come and gone, and the burst of energy he'd received from the potion he'd taken was gone as well. Still, he could probably go at it one more time, and that would be enough to send her into a stupor that could properly be categorized as black-out drunk. Then, he could finally sleep in peace.

Treowe's gaze is abruptly drawn to his Succubus pet when Zari's wings, spread out across the bed, begin to twitch. Her unfocused, glazed-over eyes shift as she lets out a groan and slowly rolls over onto her stomach. While a Succubus would quite happily assume any position, fuck or feed, they preferred not to remain on their backs for prolonged periods of time, on account of their wings.

He watches as she slowly crawls up towards the head of his bed, her ass and hips once again naturally swaying back and forth quite seductively, until finally, she straight up face plants onto one of his pillows. Snorting derisively, Treowe climbs onto the bed one last time, moving up behind her. He could leave her like this and go back to sleep himself, but he knew better. She would recover from this current stupor, and then the whole cycle would start all over again.

No, right now, Zari was on a precipice that Treowe was most familiar with. It was time to push the young Succubus over the edge. Despite that, he was a lot gentler with her than he'd been before, back when he'd been punishing her with the leash and collar. His hands massage their way up her creamy, soft legs, to her thighs and her ass and then finally the junction of muscles between her wings.

This was the most sensitive spot on a Succubus, as well as the most sensitive spot on a Veela or any other winged humanoid. As Treowe presses in with his thumbs at the same exact time in exactly the right spots, Zari's wings go into a full spread as she moans into the pillows. Treowe smiles, dipping his cock into her honeypot just a bit as he massages her, before lifting his length up like some sort of perverted painter's brush.

He uses the combination of his seed and her pussy juices currently leaking out of Zari's quim to lather and lube up her anus for a few moments, while continuing to massage between her shoulderblades, until finally, he deems himself ready. Without further ado, Treowe penetrates his Succubus pet's asshole. Zari is by far no virgin back here though, every single one of her orifices has experienced his big fat cock hundreds of times over the last few years.

Still, she does moan happily into the pillows beneath her, even as Treowe proceeds to fuck her ass with a slow, casual sliding motion that also allows him to continue massaging her back. He thrusts forward and his palms slide up her back. He pulls out, and his fingers rake down her back. Rinse and repeat, again and again as he fucks her asshole, plowing her buttocks in an almost friendly manner.

She cums a few times from the experience, her pussy squirting juices all over his legs as he fucks her into his bed. Finally, though, Treowe creams her last, untouched hole. Much like actual alcohol, Zari's anus absorbs his seed the quickest rate of all. In the end, this is what finally does her in, and the young Succubus slumps forward, completely comatose as she lays there, face down in his bed.

Treowe pulls out and then considers his pet for a long moment. He really SHOULDN'T allow her to remain in his bed with him. From sneaking into his room to initiating this entire sex session while he was still asleep, as well as flooding his body with her lust magic… not to mention her drunken statement about not wanting to share him… really, all of these were massive warning signs. He should be kicking the unconscious Succubus to the curb at the moment as one last punishment for her deeds.

And yet… she was his first best friend, his first playmate besides his sisters, and his first sexual partner. It was tough, being hard on her. Besides, he'd done quite a lot already to properly punish her, right? More than anything else, Treowe was just too damn tired to get up out of bed one final time and carry the unconscious Succubus to the hideaway bed he had in his closet for her. He also just didn't have the mental focus right now to cast the spells that would allow him to do so without moving from where he currently is.

Letting out a loud yawn, Treowe crawls under Zari's spread wings, gets into position to fall asleep, and then uses the last of his magic to wandlessly summon his sheets so that both he and his pet are covered up to just below her shoulderblades. Zari unconsciously cuddles into him, and Treowe lays a small kiss on her lips as a way of saying good night.

His last thoughts are of how much of an idiot his uncle had to be, to cheat on his wife with another human witch, rather than just using one of the Succubi from the coven of them that had existed alongside the Bicorns on Morton Lands for centuries. But then, he supposed at the end of the day, he couldn't complain too much. His uncle's idiocy was the reason that Treowe's branch of the family was now ascendant, after all.

 **-x-X-x-**

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	14. Chapter 14

_James lays on the ground, dead and still amongst the shattered wreckage that is the front of Godric Hollow. But Sirius can't stop, not even for a moment, not without finding Lily and Hella. It's what James would have wanted, even if it kills him to leave his best friend's corpse behind as he takes the stairs three at a time._

 _Lily is dead too though, her body tossed aside to clear a path to Hella's crib. But… Hella isn't dead. Hella is still very much alive. And yet, her wailing cries for her parents will never be answered again. Sirius knows he makes for a piss poor substitute, even as he grabs her up, bundling the one-year old infant in a blanket and turning on the spot to apparate out of Godric's Hollow._

 _James and Lily deserve so much more, but he has to put Hella first. He has to… except, Sirius's mind quickly connected the dots. He was always a smart cookie, for all that he played at being a bumbling buffoon. How had Voldemort found the Potters? How had the Dark Lord found his friends? They were supposed to be safe. They were supposed to be protected by some of the most powerful secrecy magic known to wizardkind._

 _Passing Hella off to Hagrid that night was the biggest mistake he ever made, but Sirius still made it, knowing that he had to find Peter, that he had to take revenge, not just for himself, but for James and Lily. He manages to corner Peter… and then it's all sound and fire as the Wormtail blows up a muggle street, killing so many people and escaping in the carnage, the aftermath._

 _Sirius wasn't in his right mind when he said it was all his fault. And the wizarding world needed a convenient scapegoat, for all that he didn't have the Dark Lord's mark on his arm. He was supposed to be the Potters' Secret Keeper. He was the monster in the eyes of everyone who he'd ever cared for._

 _All his fault! All His Fault! ALL HIS FAULT!_

 _In the face of his failure to bring Pettigrew to justice, Sirius had broken. It wasn't until they locked him up in Azkaban, wasn't until the cold had begun to seep into his bones that he came back to himself and realized just how monumentally he'd failed. And by that point, it was too late. The Dementors were there, and they-_

With a gasp, Sirius Black awakens, half-curled up on himself, on his side, and very nearly almost over the edge of his too-soft bed. He awakens half-expecting the chill of Dementors through a too-thin sheet and a ratty old prison uniform. He awakens expecting to be lying on hard, wet stone. He's barely a moment away from shifting into his Animagus form to escape the horrors that the Dementors like to inflict on him when he finally realizes where he is and fully wakes up from the nightmare he'd just been having.

His clenching hands feel the thickness of the sheets and the blanket covering his form. He registers the support and the still alien comfort of the mattress beneath his naked body. He can feel the edge of the soft pillow that his head SHOULD currently be resting upon against the back of his neck, left behind as he shook and trembled and shifted on the mattress.

Most importantly of all, Sirius can feel the heated warmth of the room around him. No room in all of Azkaban could ever have been this warm. It helps to ground him entirely in reality, and the wizard slowly releases the breath he'd unconsciously held in and tries to slow his rapidly beating heart as he forcibly shoves down the terror his nightmares had invoked within him.

It'd been over a year since he had escaped from Azkaban, and months since he had last been exposed to Dementors. Still his dreams all too often turned into nightmares because of the guilt he felt over his part in James and Lily's deaths. It was his fault, really, just as much as it was Peter's, that sniveling, lying RAT. He'd not only suggested that Wormtail be their Secret Keeper, he'd then gone on to abandon his duties as Hella's godfather in the pursuit of revenge.

It hurt all the worse when he finally saw her for the first time in thirteen years and she was a too thin, too small girl, clearly malnourished and mistreated. Finding out that she'd been put with those muggle relatives of hers… it'd made his heart nearly stop. And then, when she'd learned the truth of him… she'd welcomed and accepted him, just like that. No fury, no blame… it made the guilt of it worse, if he was being honest.

He should be at Hogwarts right now, discharging his long-past duties as Godfather! He should be doing all that he could to support her in that fucking Triwizard Tournament! Unfortunately, that wasn't in the cards, even if Dumbledore had allowed him to get that close. Because Sirius was an idiot, apparently, and had gotten himself captured by a Muggleborn Witch of all things.

Shifting slowly, Sirius glances back over his shoulder at his bedmate. Juliana's eyes are still closed, and the naked witch is fully asleep, from the look of things. She's also looking pretty damn good while sleeping too, absolutely gorgeous and stunning and… tch, her body had a way of distracting him, didn't it?

He'd been a fool, it seemed. Or at least, according to her, he was an idiot. She'd seen right through his Animagus disguise. How, Sirius still couldn't quite wrap his head around, but she'd done it and the last thing he'd seen through his doggy eyes was a bolt of stunning energy smacking him in the face. She'd captured him that easily. He'd probably used up the last of his luck in that moment, because he'd woken up to the cold spray of a shower nozzle, rather than the chill of a cell back at Azkaban.

Juliana was observant and perceptive and insightful. That much, Sirius had figured out by this point. Luckily for him, she was also a Muggleborn, and had a deep distrust and dissatisfaction with all things that had to do with the Ministry of Magic. So, she hadn't called the Aurors upon realizing just what animagus she'd managed to capture. Instead, she'd let him stay. She'd let him speak… and she'd believed him.

Then, she'd promptly decided that he was going to stay her houseguest until he could prove himself healthy enough to keep up with her… in more ways than one. A slightly rueful smile stretches across Sirius' tired lips, though it doesn't reach his eyes. He finds himself reminiscing, thinking back to his adventures with the rest of the Marauders back at Hogwarts… as well as his sexual escapades on his lonesome.

The sexual prowess that the Sirius of his teens and twenties could boast of was no longer reflected by the current reality that was his health and his physicality after thirteen years locked up in Azkaban Prison. It was rather hard to deny the evidence, especially when Sirius found himself tiring easily, and passing out from exhaustion long before Juliana did.

Even now, he was certainly too tired to be awake or to so much as try to escape as she slumbered. But really, Juliana had opened his eyes to how useless he'd be to Hella right now anyways. What good would this tired and weak Dogfather be to his goddaughter? Especially after the last time around, where it wasn't Sirius who'd saved her, but Hella who'd saved Sirius. In the process, she'd very nearly gotten her soul sucked out by Dementors because of him! And then she'd had to go back in time on Dumbledore's orders to free him before he could suffer a similar fate!

Maybe with a few more weeks of the regimen of meals, potions, and exercise that Juliana now had him on, Sirius would finally be healthy enough to actually go out into the world and DO something to help his goddaughter. Maybe- the bed suddenly shifts as his bedmate turns over and presses into his back with the nipples of her admittedly huge knockers.

"Mm… Sirius…"

Juliana breathes his name into the back of his neck, and Sirius has to stifle a groan as a shiver of desire runs down his spine, and blood immediately rushes towards his groin. Arms wrap around him and he quickly finds himself pulled down between her breasts, a bosom that would have triumphed even when compared to the bountiful chest of one Madam Rosmerta.

Juliana wasn't just a muggleborn witch. As she described it, she was far more popular and well-known in the muggle world than the wizarding world. She was called a 'model' and she supposedly wore both lacy underwear and skimpy swimsuits for other muggles to take unmoving photos of so that they could then put those photos places and sell more of the lacy underwear and skimpy swimsuits.

For a Pureblood like Sirius who had grown up in a society that was frankly too behind the times and too small to even have that much in the way competing clothing stores, let alone a massive modeling and fashion industry stretching the world over, it didn't really make much sense to Sirius. But it didn't have to make sense for him to know that he liked it when she modeled her lacy undergarments and her skimpy bikinis for him. He liked it a LOT.

Of course, she wasn't wearing anything at all right now, as Sirius rolled over on top of her, taking his name breathed from her lips as the invitation to initiate copulation that it was. The blonde muggleborn moans beneath him and happily spreads her legs apart for him, her gushing wet cunt enveloping his member as Sirius slides it in unerringly.

She's as hot and tight and warm around his member as always, with a killer body that Sirius can't help feasting upon. His hands fall to her wide hips and grip at her soft flesh, while his face remains between her breasts, his mouth working over her large jugs and slurping at both of her nipples, one after the other. Juliana moans happily as she fully wakes up, and the blonde muggleborn is all too eager to let him fuck her yet again.

Theirs is undeniably a strange relationship, but Sirius chalks that up to her being a muggleborn with more of a foot in the muggle world than the magical one. Oh sure, he'd been a bit of a horndog back in his day, and yes, he'd slept with most of the witches his age and some that were both a little younger than him and a little older than him once he'd graduated from Hogwarts and come into his own… but there was no denying that each and every one of those witches had taken a lot of work.

They had also required him to be the one to approach, effectively. No witch had ever come onto Sirius like Juliana had. No witch had ever initiated the act with him like the blonde muggleborn had done the very first night they'd been together, after hours of a pretty soft interrogation in which she'd provided him with both tea and meals galore, and even potions to try and help with his degraded strength.

That very first night, Juliana had kissed him, and Sirius had found himself responding in all the right ways. Within fifteen minutes, he'd been ball's deep inside of her. Within half an hour, he'd been spent and exhausted, unable to continue. It was embarrassing, to say the least. And yet, Juliana didn't ever bring it up. She didn't seem to fault him for it.

These days, at least, Sirius could last a while longer. Fucking Juliana, plowing her with all his might, he was already starting to sweat a little. But at least his nightmares were as far as possible from his mind in that moment, feasting as he was upon her gorgeous titties, gripping at her wide hips, ramming into her wet, clenching cunt again and again.

And she was so responsive too. Her legs eventually come up to wrap around his waist as Sirius continues fucking her, and she moans wantonly as her hands curl through his dark hair and hold him to her teats. Her gorgeous, bodacious body undulates and gyrates beneath him, rather than just laying there like a dead fish or something like that. Together, the two of them sing a song of lust, of companionship, of passion and arousal and sex.

But as always, Sirius tires first. At least at this point he can draw an orgasm or two out of her before he's completely exhausted. Her inner walls tighten and clench down all the harder and her pussy juices flow down his length, slickening her insides further each time she cums. Sirius appreciates that he's getting better, that he's getting stronger. He's regaining some of the skills that he lost in thirteen years of Azkaban, while also learning entirely new techniques that Juliana apparently picked up from the muggles.

There's certainly something to be said about the muggle world, to Sirius' surprise. They've got a lot of cool stuff, stuff that Sirius hadn't even known existed, back in the day. Lily had always been too eager to leave her world behind and join theirs, but Juliana was different, barely even having a toe in the wizarding world, from what Sirius could tell.

Regardless, eventually her inner walls milk him of his release, and Sirius falls to the side of her, leaving a nice thick load of seed in her womb. As he begins to pass out, exhausted and spent, Juliana's face appears over his, and she smiles down at him rather adoringly as she slides her fingers through his curly black hair.

"Ah, Sirius Black… you're always so good to me."

She lays a rather chaste kiss on his forehead, and then darkness takes him, and he falls back asleep, warm and in the embrace of his lover.

-x-X-x-

This time around, Sirius Black wakes up slowly, a groan leaving his lips as morning sunlight streams into the room, the sun having finally risen high enough in the sky to shine through the lids of his shut eyes. Shielding said eyes from the glare, Sirius rolls over to try and hide from the morning light, but only really confirms what he already knew… the other half of the bed is already empty.

As usual, Juliana had already woken up before him and slipped out of the bed to start her day without waking him. A daily reminder of just how much further Sirius had to go. Back in the day, when he'd been a lot younger and a lot healthier, it was usually Sirius who was up before his numerous lovers. He was also the one who'd fucked THEM into exhaustion the night before though as well, more often than not.

Alas, for now at least, those days were behind him. The days of him easily slipping out of any bed he found himself in without waking his past lovers, even if there was more than one feminine body to escape the cuddling of… those were long gone and whether or not they were ever going to return was still very much up in the air.

Sirius' stomach suddenly begins to rumble, and he's reminded of the daily schedule that Juliana had set for him and her. At this point, the bodacious blonde should be down in the kitchen making breakfast. In Sirius' not-so-humble experience, looks and cooking skills were usually in direct contrast with one another. Some of the more plain-looking witches that he'd fucked back in the day, he'd only done it because he'd heard rumors of how good their breakfasts were.

Meanwhile, prettier witches tended not to have much in the way of cooking skills, and usually Sirius could actually out-cook some of the hotter women he'd been with, back in the day. Of course, as she'd proven capable of doing in pretty much every arena, Juliana turned his expectations on his head. Not only was she a drop-dead gorgeous feminine specimen… she was also a stellar cook, and the meals he'd had with her so far had been even better than what he remembered from his Hogwarts days. And those House Elves knew how to COOK.

Regardless, she expected him to clean up and shower before she'd give him any of that delicious food, so Sirius finds himself hopping out of bed and making his way towards the master bath. After breakfast, it would be catching up on what was happening in both the wizarding and muggle worlds, and then his exercise regimen, as well as everything else Juliana had decided to start him on that were meant to help him recover his health.

Snatching up his current wand from off the end table beside the bed, Sirius points it at the mess he's left behind and begins a chain of spells that clean it up, smooth out the wrinkles, fluff the pillows, and ultimately make up the bed so well that no one would be able to tell that it'd been slept in. Juliana might have frowned upon such a frivolous use of magic, but so long as it was out of her sight, she had no problem with him using it some of the time it would take for her to have to wash the sheets every day. And given how INSATAIBLE the blonde muggleborn had proven to be, it would indeed be every single day if he didn't do this.

Twirling the wand between his fingers, feeling the hum of the magic within it, Sirius lets his eyes drift shut for a moment, his nostrils flaring as he exhales. It wasn't nearly as good as his original wand, but it wasn't bad, and that in and of itself was a surprise, that Juliana had had a spare wand that actually fit him at least partially. Not that this was the only spare wand the blonde had.

The way she'd explained it, the two dozen wands she'd had lying around in boxes gathering dust in her closet were from arrogant, pureblooded wizards and witches that had taken umbrage with the fact that her body was so damn fit. More than one had apparently desired her, while some had simply wanted to 'show the mudblood whore her place'.

Sirius had rather enjoyed some of the various stories of her acquisitions, especially those that resulted in the wizard or witch being subdued by muggles, be they security, bodyguard, or police after the loss of their wand. At the same time, he couldn't help but be a little worried for her. She'd managed to skate under the radar pretty well so far from the sound of things, but Sirius was half-waiting for the day that the Aurors would arrive to try and bust down Juliana's door. He was counting on being a bit more ready for that day when it finally came though.

Heading into the master bath, where Juliana has already laid out a robe, briefs, socks, and the fluffy doggie slippers that she'd bought for him on a lark just the other day, Sirius smiles down at the things even as he sets his wand on the counter before stepping up to the shower and turning it on. Within moments, he's under the hot spray of water… where he spends quite a while, just enjoying the sheer luxury of a long, hot shower after being denied that basic human kindness for many, MANY years.

It also allowed him to take stock of the slow, positive changes happening to his body. In the beginning, stepping into Juliana's shower had been embarrassing, his form so gaunt and pale and just… less than what he'd once been. After she'd started him on all of his regimens, however, Sirius could visibly track the progress that their efforts were having on his form. He'd gone from that gaunt, pale, hunched over shell of a man to well-nourished and even regaining some of his color in just a few short weeks. It was very encouraging, to say the least.

And of course, there was his cock to ogle a little bit. Looking down the length of his body, Sirius takes ahold of his member, quirking a corner of his mouth up as he reflects on the increased thickness of both his dick and his balls in the time that he'd been with Juliana as well. Finding out that prolonged exposure to Dementors had caused a great many detrimental effects to the body… including shrinking and shriveling down there, had been very disheartening. Getting some damn proper healing from his new blonde lover in that department, however, had meant the world to him. Frequent and long periods of testing had proven that his dick still worked just fine, even if his stamina wasn't quite up to snuff just yet.

Finishing up with the shower after a long while under the hot water, Sirius steps out and grabs the large fluffy towel waiting for him, wiping himself dry and moving to get dressed. Of course, Juliana has put his clothes right next to the mirror, so as he's putting them on, it's impossible not to catch sight of his reflection. He no longer matches the appearance of the stark-raving madman from his Wanted Poster, at least. Juliana had shown him how simple grooming through muggle means and a hairstyle change could alter his identity and make him look like a completely different person without using a drop of magic. It even extended to his Animagus form. He'd gone from a dirty mongrel to the kind of quality Sirius had seen in show dogs through Juliana's 'telly-vision'.

Pulling his hair back tightly into a ponytail and applying the hair tie that Juliana had made sure to set aside for him makes him look something like a Pureblood Lord, if he's being honest, a realization that always makes him wince a little at the reminder of how he probably would have looked if he'd stayed with his family or tried to fit in with the likes of say, Lucius Malfoy. Cissy probably had to compete with her own husband daily to see which of them was the prettiest, really.

Still, it was better than being filthy and looking like he just got out of prison, Sirius supposed. Finishing with getting cleaned up, showered, and finally dressed, the wizard finally begins to make his way downstairs towards the kitchen, a smile on his face and a bit of pep in his step as he finds himself already salivating over the taste of Juliana's breakfast not yet even in his mouth.

Of course, he freezes just outside of the kitchen at the sight contained within. While the smell of recently cooked delicious food fills his nostrils, it does not distract Sirius from the vision of beauty currently taking up his gaze. Juliana stands there, slaving over the oven for him completely in the nude save for an apron. Her exposed ass shakes back and forth as she dances lightly to music coming out of the radio on the counter behind her.

She was still cooking, of course, but if this wasn't a fucking invitation, Sirius didn't know what was. His tight briefs quickly outline his growing junk as his member bulges out of his underwear, his erection soon fighting against its containment. Not even bothering to look away from Juliana, Sirius reaches down and simply tugs his briefs down until his still-growing length can flop free entirely, before effectively going 'boing' as it pops up straight to full mast in mere seconds.

The sheer confidence in her form, the beautiful, gorgeous body that allows her to pull it off… she was perfection made manifest. So of course, Sirius goes right ahead and sneaks up on her. Not that she's all that surprised when he wraps his arms around her waist and nuzzles her neck with his nose. She giggles at him, but continues cooking, even as Sirius groans into the crook of her neck.

"Good morning to you too, Sirius. Is that your wand, or are you just happy to see me?"

It was a cheesy line, but it was undeniably sexy when it came from her, in this situation. With a low growl, his cock just throbbing at this point, Sirius slips it in. No more foreplay, no hesitation, no ifs, ands, or buts. He just slides his member down between the gorgeous thigh gap, finds purchase in her dripping wet cunt lips, and thrusts forward, knowing that the apron she's wearing only manages to cover her pussy from the front, and just barely manages to stretch enough to cover the nipples of her huge bust.

Juliana moans in response to his sudden penetration, her head tilting back to rest on his shoulder as she wiggles about, gyrating her hips around as his cock buries itself in her. Sirius wastes no time in fucking the gorgeous blonde witch, pounding into her from behind, filling her with his meat again and again and again. He doesn't fuck her TOO hard, of course. For one, she's still making breakfast, even as they couple right there in the middle of the kitchen. For two, Sirius knows his own limits still right now, and while it's one thing to pass out in bed, it's another entirely to go too hard, too fast, and have his legs fail him in the middle of the damn morning.

So, conscious of his own limited strength, Sirius does his thing while not overdoing it, he fucks Juliana without taxing his oh-so-precious and incredibly low reserves of energy. She still loves it, and so does he, her insides clenching and squeezing around his pistoning cock, and her moans filling the kitchen just the same as the smells of delicious breakfast food, and the sounds of sizzling eggs and popping bacon.

He's almost proud of the fact that by the time he cums inside of her, filling her womb with yet another load of his seed for the umpteenth time in the last few weeks, his legs truly don't give out on him, not even once, and he's able to sit down at the breakfast table unaided under her watchful, but altogether proud gaze. It's a little odd that she always lets him cum inside. Hell, in the beginning, she insisted upon it.

If Sirius didn't know better, he'd assume that Juliana was a gold digger and wanted him to knock her up with his baby. He'd known a few witches like that, back in his day. However, if she'd really wanted him for nothing but his sperm, she didn't need to put the amount of work into him that she had been. She could have just kept him in his gaunt, diminished state, locked up or tied down as she… extracted his semen from him.

It was still possible that she was doing all of this to secure her place at his side, eventually demanding that he marry her and make her Lady Black or something like that. Sirius technically was Lord Black now, after all, from what he knew. But if that WAS the case, if that WAS what Juliana wanted… he really couldn't begrudge her it. In fact, he wouldn't mind it. Maybe one day soon, he'd pop the question…

Regardless, they finish up and settle down to eat breakfast, but before either of them can begin to discuss their plans for the day, a very familiar owl, the owl that Sirius sent to a certain Ron Weasley a year back, crashes into the kitchen window rather blatantly. Both Sirius and Juliana are somewhat surprised by this, but soon enough the window is open, Pigwidgeon is supplied with a spot of breakfast, and a single, folded up front page of the Daily Prophet from the day of the Yule Ball is unfolded before Sirius.

As he reads, he gets progressively more incensed, until by the end, he's practically yelling.

"Fuck! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! This is what I get! This is what I get for thinking I had time! This is what I get for leaving Hella to fend for herself! Damn it all!"

Juliana places a hand on his arm, and while it would normally be calming, neither it nor the soft tone of voice she uses with him truly work.

"Sirius…"

Turning towards her, almost wild-eyed, the half-recovered wizard practically growls.

"I have to get to Hogwarts! I have to protect my goddaughter from this… this filthy Slytherin!"

His waving of the newspaper article in his hand gives Juliana a chance to snatch it from him finally. As Sirius collapses into his chair and slumps back a little bit, exhausted from his sudden outburst but already making plans, Juliana reads the article… and blanches.

Unbeknownst to Sirius Black, Juliana was not just a blonde muggleborn super-model with epic body proportions. She was, as it turned out… a Succubus. And not just a Succubus, but a Succubus that was very familiar with the Morton Family, their Estate, and their young but handsome heir. Pursing her lips together, the transformed Succubus thinks up and discards half a dozen plans right off the bat as she considers what to do about this, how to handle this situation.

Many of her initial ideas would only serve to ruin what she's already built with Sirius, the rapport she's already managed to create with him meaning more to her than she'd ever thought it would. No, she couldn't betray him now, even if it was to protect him and keep him away from all the dangers of the world. If she wanted something REAL with the wizard sat before her, she would need to support him in this, just as she'd been supporting him in everything else.

Placing a hand on Sirius' shoulder, Juliana squeezes it comfortingly, pleased when Sirius immediately reaches up and grabs it, latching into her as she's conditioned him to do.

"Don't worry, Sirius… I'll go with you. Together, we'll figure this out. Alright?"

"… Alright."

Good. She would need to be there, to keep her… whatever he was to her from doing something stupid. She couldn't afford to lose such a virile and potentially potent specimen, especially since Sirius, bullheaded and single minded as he was, would almost certainly track Heir Morton back to his families' land and run afoul of HER extensive family up there. Her kin would never let him see the light of day again if they got even a single taste of him. She was all that stood between him and bondage, truth be told.

Though, wasn't that already the case when she'd snatched the incredibly obvious Animagus off the street in the first place and hid him away from the Ministry to avoid him being sent back to Azkaban or given the Dementor's Kiss? Now, she was simply going to be fighting to keep him out of harm's way on multiple fronts.

… No big deal.

 **-x-X-x-**

 **If you'd like to read more of my work not seen on this website, check out H entai-Foundry dot com and Questionable Questing dot com! I'm known as 'Cambrian' on those websites.**

 **If you'd like to contribute to funding my writing at all, check me out on P atreon. com (slash) Cambrian**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	15. Chapter 15

"You've certainly gotten bigger…"

Those were the first words that Treowe's older sister Shelbie Morton had said to him that weren't an order or filled with clinical detachment since he'd been brought to her shortly before he could make it to breakfast. Cocking his head to the side, Treowe wonders how she means those words, exactly. Could be statistically, physically, in a sense of familiarity, or altogether sexually.

Could be statistically, given the way she was comparing the parchment from his last 'check-up' right before Hogwarts this year to the one currently being magically filled out with results from his current examination. Could be physically, as he still had several years of growth left before his body reached its full maturity and he'd spent a lot of time figuring out the various exercises he could do with the resources of Hogwarts to tone up his body. Said body was on full display at the moment, since he'd been stripped down to a loincloth for the purposes of this ritual examination.

It could also be in the familiar sense, as it had been several months since Treowe and Shelbie had last seen each other. He'd certainly gone through a few ordeals in that time, and she hadn't been able to be there to support and take care of him whenever something went wrong. Was that weighing on her, perhaps?

Of course, she could also have meant it sexually, despite being his big sister. After all, Treowe had been brought here shortly after recovering from Zari's welcome home ritual, and it didn't take much to arouse him at the moment as the effects of the young Succubus lingered on his body. As evidenced by the pitched tent that his loincloth had become from watching Shelbie's bum sway and bounce as she moved back and forth with an excited energy, examining his condition.

Despite the cold stone of the ritual altar that he was laid out upon as she moved runestones around and on his body, Treowe was distinctly, dreadfully hard. But then, it didn't help that Shelbie was constantly leaning over him at times, caramel ringlets of hair draping over his chest as she checked the placement of the runestones, her robed breasts hanging tantalizingly close enough to tempt him into reaching out and groping them… and yet, Treowe remained almost painfully still under the gaze of Nurse Ratched.

Shelbie's House Elf medical assistant stood off to the side, observing and waiting to be of use to her Mistress. Though in this case, while assistant was still appropriate, it was also slightly misleading. The Morton Medi-House Elf had several decades, nearly a century in fact, of experience over Shelbie Morton. Having served as the medical assistant (or as Treowe called her, Nurse) to the various Medi-witches and wizards that had lived on Morton lands for several generations now, she was ancient by human standards, and about mid-life by House Elf standards.

Not that the old House Elf was actually NAMED 'Ratched', but he remembered that name for scary nurses from his previous life, and as Treowe had found out over the years, this one earned it as well. The House Elf wore little white and red robes denoting her station, but with the red being a little too close to blood red for Treowe's tastes. She also wore a little nurse cap tilted at an angle. On top of that, the signature expectant, wide open eyes of a House Elf were instead narrowed into a glare on her face.

There was also the simple fact that she didn't have time for excuses or complaints, not even from the Heir of House Morton. If you were someone, she deemed a patient, then you were stripped of all other identity, boiled down to simply that patient moniker until such a time as you were no longer a patient and became a full person again. As evidenced by the way Nurse Ratched had grabbed and popped him here the moment he stepped out of his bedroom.

In comparison, Shelbie is certainly a much better sight, even covered in a set of robes that just screamed White Mage from Treowe's fantasy knowledge, with the major difference being that HER robes had been clearly altered to show off her curves, rather than hide them.

"… I always wondered why there were so many warnings… why it was forbidden to us to learn how to become Animagi and why other forms of self-transfiguration were also banned… but if this is the result of a simple prank jinx on a member of our family, I can only imagine how much worse a more powerful bit of transformation magic might affect us!"

Shelbie is almost babbling, clearly excited and even happy as she examines his horns. Snorting derisively, Treowe refrains from shaking his head as he wants to.

"Happy to help be your guinea pig sis… again."

Memories of the past float through his mind as he lays there, perfectly still. He'd been in this situation many times before, to the point that it was old hat for him at this point. Both Shelbie and Leala had enjoyed practicing their crafts on him. But then to be fair, House Morton was a family of self-starters, at the end of the day. And being at home, they could freely specialize their training, rather than being forced to learn useless things at an institution like Hogwarts.

Treowe had been volunteered many times over the years as both 'patient' and test subject, and- Shelbie's hand is suddenly stroking over his spade tail, and Treowe's thoughts are temporarily derailed as he shivers in pleasure from the feeling. She's obviously just investigating the sensitivity of the extremity. This is one of the few upsides of 'playing Mediwitch' with his voluptuous older sister over the years.

Said upside comes crashing down along with his momentary pleasure when his arm is suddenly and abruptly stabbed by Shelbie's House Elf as the old elf begins to extract vials of blood for testing. Treowe hisses but manages to keep his natural body still… key word there being natural. His tail lashes out though, slapping Shelbie's hand away and causing his older sister to blush and look away for a moment while rubbing her hand gingerly.

Treowe just stares straight up at the ceiling as Ratched drains blood from his arm. Eventually, Shelbie appears over his head again, moving around to his horns with a file in her hands. Leaning over, her breasts once more hang out over his head, filling him with temptation. All he would have to do was shift his horns a little and he'd be stroking them with his horns.

Instead, resisting the temptation, Treowe just enjoys the view of them jiggling and wiggling back and forth as Shelbie carefully files away a few shavings from his horns, collecting them into a small jar for further testing. Of course, even then his enjoyment is torn away from him by the pain of having the needle in his arm ripped out, and the wound sealed with some fast-acting potion that worked faster at the expense of burning on contact.

This draws his attention away from Sheblie's tits long enough for her to finish with her filing, much to his disappointment and the ache of his erection as she leans back just when he's turning his gaze back up to her chest.

"Here, take these samples to cauldron butt and have her get back to me with her thoughts on possible cures for our brother as soon as possible."

Nurse Ratched might have had a century of experience on Shelbie, but she was still a House Elf and Shelbie was still House Morton's resident medi-witch. As such, the voluptuous young woman orders the medical elf without hesitation, while at the same time throwing in her insulting, teasing, nickname for Leala on top.

Treowe can only sigh in relief as the elf pops away with about half of the samples taken from his body. Sitting up on the altar now that he no longer has to lie down on the cold stone, Treowe swings his legs off the edge and hops off, following Shelbie out of the room as her shifting and colliding ass cheeks provide quite the mesmerizing sight for him to get lost in. Despite her nickname for Leala, born out of the fact that Leala's butt definitely got the most attention whenever men were around, Shelbie really wasn't that far behind in comparison.

Most of his earliest wet dreams in this life had featured BOTH of his sisters in equal measure, to be perfectly honest… Treowe didn't have favorites. He couldn't, not when the two of them were both so fucking gorgeous it almost always hurt to be around them.

Regardless, leaving behind the arcane ritual chamber, they end up entering an examination room that wouldn't be out of place in a modern medical center, compared to what they'd come from. It even had posters of the human body, organs, and skeleton on the walls. Her collection of both mundane and magical medical magazines was up to date for the end of the month to top it off.

Of course, she kept her mundane and her magical medical supplies stored away separately. It had been rather horrifying to Treowe to learn that most magical cures for something fairly innocuous were actually fatal to any normal, 'mundane' human being. It certainly gave a reason for why the magical and mundane worlds needed to be kept apart though, at least.

The Pepper-Up Potion for example could easily cure the Common Cold… but it did so by superheating the body to incinerate any foreign pathogens in the consumer. The steam coming out of the ears was the only side effect that resulted from a magical human being having the water in their body heated to boiling. They only survived because of magic, at the end of the day. It really was little wonder why the magical population steered clear of trying to 'help' their mundane counterparts too much. Treowe could only imagine that some misunderstandings centuries before was what led to the witch burnings and the like.

Moving over to where he knows he's supposed to be, Treowe reclines back, still mostly naked, on the leather examination table that dominates the center of the room. Said table is charmed to be heated, and it begins warming up his cold back and freezing behind as he relaxes onto it. Shelbie, meanwhile, sits her big ass down in a wide rolling chair as her eyes travel from his tented erection up his body before finally settling on his face… with only occasional glances back down to his crotch.

Unable to help himself, Treowe channels his inner Bugs Bunny and grins widely at his older sister.

"So, what's up doc?"

Rolling her eyes, Shelbie checks the scroll in front of her.

"According to your latest check-up, you're suffering from dehydration, friction burns, bruising… oh, and you're turning into a Bicorn."

Treowe takes a few seconds to process all of that before realizing the first few symptoms are just a joke about him having too much sex with Zari. And then he properly processes that last part as well. Snorting slightly, he shakes his head.

"So, nothing we weren't already expecting. That's a relief."

They manage to hold their stoic expressions of professionalism for a few more seconds before breaking down into chuckles and giggles respectively. For most witches and wizards, the knowledge that they were turning into a magical creature would have been horrifying, but the Mortons were not 'most witches and wizards'.

Among the Morton Family records, there existed evidence, locked away and sealed, about such things having befallen members of the family before. There were also solutions that had been created and used to restore said family members to their humanity. So, Treowe wasn't entirely worried.

"Guess all those years of eating Bicorn Steaks is finally catching up with me."

He jokes, as if he's a patient learning that he has high cholesterol. Shelbie scoffs in response, waving a hand dismissively.

"Oh, like that's going to stop you or any of the rest of us from eating them."

They both knew that every year, there were Bicorns, mostly colts and fillies, that couldn't control their man-eating hunger and ended up trying to take a bite out of their family's servants. They just returned the favor. Of course, there was also the bloodline to be considered. Everyone born with the Morton family name carried the magical enhancement of the Bicorns. Size, strength, stamina, libido… and an affinity for Dark Magic.

Compounded by the fact that each of their wands, the real ones, not the Ministry-Approved Ollivander Wands they started out with, were all made from Bicorn Horns, soaked in Bicorn Blood, and surrounded by the bark of the eldest tree in their lands as it had been for generations… well. Men tended to use the blood and horns of a Bicorn stallion they slew when they came of age, while women used the birthing blood and horns of a Bicorn mare that they helped give birth. The magical symbolism enhanced different aspects of the wands, which resulted in the wielders being enhanced in their respective roles.

"Give me and cauldron butt a few days to get some solutions ready to try, and we should be able to get started on fixing you right up."

Shelbie develops a devious grin and gives Treowe a wink.

"Don't worry little brother. Your big sisters will have you all better and back to your 'lovely flower' in no time at all~"

The 'lovely flower' bit is said in an overdone, romantically swooning voice, and Treowe's face heats up as he realizes that Shelbie and probably all of the others, including Leala, Vera, his mother, and more than likely Zari and HER mother as well, had gotten ahold of his letters to father in which he described Hella and his relationship with her.

To be perfectly honest, he'd only included such flowery language to try and impress upon Lord Morton the importance of the ties and bonds he was making with Hella Potter. The more he could talk her up, the more his father would like her, he figured. Of course, now the female half of his family, as well as the succubi most interested in him, had all the material they could possibly tease him with now.

"Do you think her Animagus form might be a doe? You could mount her as a Bicorn and pound her white, heart-shaped ass!"

Treowe slaps a hand across his face in a classic face palm as Shelbie loudly voices an idea that he had in fact day-dreamed and fantasized about before. Though in the fantasy, neither he nor Hella were actually animals… well, maybe he was. But Hella was still humanoid, she just had some… doe-like features. Swallowing thickly, given what he knew of James Potter's animagus form, it was a distinct possibility…

His treacherous member jumps in excitement and desire at the idea, and the movement is visible even through the loincloth. Shelbie notices immediately of course.

"Oh, what a perverted and naughty little brother I have! With such beastly intentions for the pure and innocent Golden Girl of Hogwarts, too!"

Pot meet kettle, heh. Treowe knew exactly the kind of toys that Shelbie kept around and used on herself, mostly because the man-eating Bicorns tended to scare most suitors off. Still, he didn't have to take this from her. Getting off the table and bending over to reach for his clothes, Treowe makes the mistake of taking his eyes off of his older sister for a few moments.

When he stands back up again with his clothing in his arms, his back collides with soft, fleshy globes that he's honestly been ogling all morning long.

"Oh, brother dear… we can't have you walking around in your current state."

She breathes out the words into his ear, hardened nipples rubbing against his back. A warm hand slips around his side and down into the loincloth, gripping his shaft most firmly.

"You could traumatize the little ones with this, big and hard as it is right now."

Her fingers slide up and down along with her creamy, smooth palm, and she strokes him in pleasure-spots that she'd found the last time they'd done this.

"Besides, I forgot to collect a sperm sample from you before. Good thing you have so much to spare…"

Her wand suddenly pokes his balls, and Treowe's eyes widen as she casts a bit of magic on him that causes him to seize up and groan. Her wand stays pressed up against his nut sack, even as she continues to stroke off his member. His balls are churning and even growing slightly as her magic causes him to over-produce despite her previous words, making his next cum load a large one indeed.

But they aren't there yet, and if Treowe has his way, they won't be there for some time. Instead, he holds back as long as he can, thoroughly enjoying the handjob his big sister is giving him. They can't do much more than this, unfortunately. Not at this point, with how him and Hella might possibly be 'married in the eyes of Magic' or something like that.

The two of them were certainly bound together, so having sex with Shelbie might very well cause the Bicorn herd that filled the lands around him to consume him for being a 'cheating husband' just like his Uncle had been. Funny how that worked. It wasn't the incest they were upset by, and they didn't seem to mind if he fucked non-humans like Zari… oh, but another witch? After he'd effectively promised his heart to Hella? That was dangerous territory.

Still, it feels good, having Shelbie giving him a handie, even as she causes him to produce more and more cum, until his balls almost feel like they're going to pop. With the sort of precision only a medi-witch can have, Shelbie realizes the exact moment he's about to blow even before he does, and a small jar levitates over to them, just as she's stroking her fingers up his shaft, all the way to the tip.

With a groan, Treowe explodes, his seed pumping into the jar. Unfortunately, or perhaps on purpose, Shelbie had misjudged the size of jar she'd need. The jar fills to the brim with his cum almost immediately, and then it begins to overflow, his seed gushing out onto the floor and down his shaft, splattering all over her hand and even her wand as she lets out a soft gasp that doesn't sound all that surprised at all, to be honest.

Pulling back, Shelbie gives Treowe a wicked sort of grin as she circles around to the front of him.

"Whoops~"

Then, she brings her hand up to her lips and sucks it clean. She does the same with her wand, licking it slowly and sensually, as if showing off just what she could do with her mouth on a phallic object. Treowe flushes, but begins to get dressed nonetheless, casting a hasty cleaning charm on his crotch to get rid of the mess that Shelbie had left him with in his own way.

By the time he's dressed, Shelbie is finished and has stoppered up the small jar filled with his cum, setting it aside. However, then she starts walking towards the door, like they're done. But they aren't… they're far from done.

"Oh no you don't, big sis."

Having learned at the feet of a mature Succubus in the form of Zari's mom, Treowe knew several spells to use on Shelbie in kind. The one he casts on her is a combination spell, of sorts. The first thing she feels is a thick, hard-light mimicry of his own cock, burying itself in her fat, fuckable ass. No need to remove her robes or anything like that, it goes right through them and penetrates her butthole on the spot.

Shelbie cries out and falls to her knees from the sudden penetration, and then she cries out again in an ugly fashion as the second half of the spell activates. Namely, the bit that will curse her to orgasm repeatedly, each one growing in strength until she passes out from the pleasure. The first orgasm hits her, and she moans as her voluptuous body shudders.

Moving his wand up and down with one hand as he strokes his own cock with the other, Treowe orchestrates the buggering of his big sister, pistoning the hard-light copy of his cock in and out of Shelbie's asshole, fucking her nice and hard as he strokes himself off, even if he can't actually fuck her personally.

Shelbie cums again, this time more explosively, and then falls forward, face first onto the ground. Her 'White Mage' robes are still covering her body, but at the same time they conform so closely to her curves that Treowe feels like he's seeing everything without seeing everything. Her ass, fat and round in all the best ways, is certainly visible as it jiggles and bounces and rocks back and forth along the hard-light cock that he's fucking her with.

He knows without a doubt in his mind that this is exactly what Shelbie wanted from him, to be fair. It had taken him a while to realize it, but he'd definitely given his sisters higher standards of what men should be, perhaps too high in some ways. Inadvertently, of course, but then that's what happens when they wanted him to play patient and test subject all the damn time. You learn a lot more about your siblings than you ever thought possible.

Shelbie cums again, squealing as her orgasms grow further and further and power. She's clawing at the ground now, her breasts smooshed up against it. Face down, ass up, she looks like she's prostrating herself before her god, though of course Treowe is currently behind her. Grinning a bit like a loon, the young man continues to stroke his dick, even as he speeds up just how fast the copy of his cock is pounding in and out of her anus.

Again, and again and again, Shelbie orgasms, the curse on her making each one stronger than the last. It's a relatively benign curse though, in that it ends when the victim passes out. Very good for dealing with enemies in a humiliating, but nonlethal manner… and also very good for making naughty big sisters pay for their teasing in spades.

Eventually, his medi-witch of a sister konks out on the floor in front of him, letting out one last throaty moan and then slumping forward completely. Seeing her climax herself into unconsciousness as that fat ass of her jiggles and rocks from the constant thrusts of his hard-light cock is enough to send Treowe over the edge, and with a groan, he unloads a nice thick load of cum, not nearly as voluminous as the last one, but still rather large, all over Shelbie's white robes. He soaks right through her backside and her back as well, even getting some of his seed as far up as her hair.

When he's done cumming, however, Treowe spends only a moment admiring the view for a pensieve later, and then he begins cleaning up the mess. He gets rid of his cum, he gets rid of the puddle of pussy juices forming beneath his passed-out sister, and then, only then does he wake Shelbie up with an Ennervate.

"Wha-… d-damn you Treowe, my ass is so fucking sore…"

Treowe just chuckles darkly, as his older sister climbs up off the ground and pouts at him, rubbing her bottom. She turns it towards him expectantly and bats big, doe-ish eyes in his direction.

"Kiss it better?"

Snorting derisively, Treowe delivers a harsh smack to her bottom instead, causing Shelbie to coo as the two of them finally leave her examination room from behind. Good thing that it's both locked and soundproofed, because the moment that they step out into the hallway, they're beset upon. Well, more accurately, Treowe is beset upon by two small bodies.

"Big brother, big brother!"

Treowe chuckles as his two youngest sisters happily cling to his waist and leg, glad that his libido is fully dealt with right now and they're not feeling anything… untoward. Meanwhile, the third has unfortunately reached that moody preteen age and doesn't want hugs from her big brother anymore, so she's standing back, clearly happy to see him as well, but crossing her arms over her chest and trying hard not to show it.

Smiling, Treowe just shakes his head as he holds the youngest two nice and close for a moment.

"I'm rather famished girls… why don't you remind me where the dining room is, yeah?"

"Big brother is so forgetful! Come on!"

As the two youngest Morton witches drag him towards breakfast, Treowe just laughs. Even if it's under… unfortunate circumstances and only temporary, even if he's slowly turning into a Bicorn, he's rather glad to be home.

 **-x-X-x-**

 **If you'd like to read more of my work not seen on this website, check out H entai-Foundry dot com and Questionable Questing dot com! I'm known as 'Cambrian' on those websites.**

 **If you'd like to contribute to funding my writing at all, check me out on P atreon. com (slash) Cambrian**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	16. Chapter 16

As Hella Potter slowly came back to consciousness, she was quickly made aware of the fact that she wasn't alone in her bed. There was a head resting on her breast. Blinking her eyes open, Hella took in the long veil of brown locks that could only belong to one Hermione Granger. Both of them were naked beneath her sheets. Stretching carefully and yawning as quietly as she could to avoid waking up the other occupant in her bed, Hella can't help but smile a little.

Especially when Hermione still shifts in response, but only to rub her head into Hella's breast, causing the green-eyed young woman to sigh in pleasure. Reaching out, Hella wraps an arm around Hermione's wait and pulls her ever closer, while her other hand comes up to find its way into the mane of hair draped over her body as she begins to stroke her fingers through it.

It was a very calming action, petting Hermione's hair. No wonder that Treowe did it to her own hair so very often, even if her tresses had a tendency to wrap around his hand and refuse to let go, depending on her emotional state. Hermione's didn't do that though… hell, it wasn't even that bushy these days, certainly not since she'd done something to it to make herself all the more presentable for the Yule Ball.

It reminded Hella of some of the lessons she'd been reading up on lately that pertained to magical grooming and went along with her Metamorphmagus abilities. Repeated magical influences on the body could linger, and even become self-sustaining if the pattern was repeated often enough. Hermione had become remarkably beautiful when she had put forth the effort to be so, and the longer-lasting effects of that choice were showing.

Hella's arm around Hermione's waist squeezes a bit tighter as she feels a sense of selfish possessiveness come over her, a desire to keep her best friend all to herself welling up in her breast. Truth be told, she wasn't taking it all well. Treowe's absence was compounding the strain she was already under from Ron's betrayal. Meanwhile, Hermione was frequently off with Krum. Ginny and Neville were trying to be a little more friendly with her, and Hella didn't mind that to be fair. Meanwhile, the Twins swung by when they could, but she was still younger than them, and they had their own social lives to worry about.

This had undeniably been her most isolated year yet, for sure. Perhaps not her loneliest, but definitely her most isolated. The differences in goals, personalities, and of course the drama of the Triwizard Tournament had divided Hella from pretty much all of her fellow students, both in her year and in her house.

She had never considered the New Year to be the real start of the new year, because much like most young people in school, it came in the middle of the school year, which always made it feel like it was little more than a holiday to pay lip service to more than anything else. But now, with the expansion of her knowledge on magical history, with her knowledge of how much she'd been ignorant of, with all of the changes she'd been going through, it really did feel like a new year.

It had her reflecting on all that she'd learned, all that had been denied to her for so long, where she had come from, and ultimately, where she wanted to go from here. Obviously, surviving the Tournament was priority numero uno. It had to be… but afterwards, she knew she didn't want to return to the Dursleys ever again. Not that she'd ever wanted to go back to them in previous summers, but now that she had knowledge of her family's status, wealth, and power, it felt ridiculous that she be locked up in the Dursley's smallest room for three months out of the year like she was some criminal.

Hell, did she even want to return to Hogwarts next year? So far, she was four for four on yearly disasters. Something, without fail, was always afoot at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and always, without fail, Hella found herself being dragged into it, one way or another. It wasn't until this year that she'd truly come to realize that it wasn't always truly her own choice. Yes, she'd gone after the Sorcerer's Stone in her first year, yes, she'd hunted down the Basilisk in her second. Yes, she'd ended up saving Sirius' life in her third.

But she could now see the manipulation of others in every action she'd undertook. In her first year, it was Dumbledore that had been so foolish as to put the stone in a school of all places. It was Dumbledore that had constructed a bunch of magical protections three first year students could get through. In her second year, it was the population of the school that had backed Hella into a corner, labelling her the Heir of Slytherin, trying to get her in trouble until she felt like she HAD to figure out what was truly going on. In her third year, it was Dumbledore again, but just a longer lasting screw up. It was his fault Sirius had gone to prison in the first place, Hella now felt. His fault that Sirius hadn't gotten any sort of a fair shake.

And now here she was in her fourth year, with the most blatant manipulation of all. Someone had stuck her name in that Goblet, and it wasn't her. To be fair, Hella didn't think it was Dumbledore who had done it either. No, she fully believed that this was Voldemort's doing, or at least one of his toadies. But Dumbledore had let it happen once again, he'd let it happen through his lack of security and own inaction.

And now here she was, fighting for her life. Once was happenstance, twice was coincidence… three times was enemy action. That was what Treowe had said to her during their first meeting. Did Hella really want to return for a fifth year that would almost certainly be more of the same, so long as she actually survived to the end of this year?

After a moment of thought, she finds herself coming to an inescapable conclusion. No, she doesn't. She really didn't want to tempt fate a fifth time. Especially not when she now knew for a fact that she could learn much more and much faster under Treowe's personal tutelage. Plus, he'd mentioned that his older sisters had never attended Hogwarts and had been taught by private tutors instead while still having successful careers, so…

Hella's eyes trail down to Hermione's brown locks, and she smiles sadly. Of course, that would mean leaving her best friend behind, unfortunately. Everyone else would be fine without her, and Ron could fucking piss off for all Hella cared… but after that conversation she'd overheard, about what some of the higher years really thought about Hermione… well, how could Hella not be afraid of what would befall her friend if the protection of House Potter was suddenly absent?

How could- ah, Hermione was finally beginning to wake up. Hella smiles as the brunette bookworm groans in pain and clutches at her head, before lifting up another hand to try and push herself off of what she probably thought was just a very comfy pillow. Instead, of course, she ends up grabbing onto one of Hella's breasts and squeezing it harshly as she attempts to push herself up. Hella moans in pleasure at the forceful grip, causing Hermione to freeze up and finally take in her surroundings, her position, and her current state of dress.

Flushing a distinctly Weasley red, the brunette 'eep's' rather cutely and then attempts to get away. But Hella already has a hand around her waist and pulls her back down as their lips press together and Hella moves her hand down to squeeze the bookworm's cute bump. The resulting squeak is muffled by Hella's lips and gives her further access to taste the sweet tang of last night's drinks on Hermione's tongue.

Hermione soon finds herself moaning into Hella's mouth as well as their breasts rub together. For a time, they just make out with one another, before eventually Hella has to release Hermione for air. As she does so, she gives her best friend a wicked grin.

"Good morning, Hermione."

As her bedmate sucks in lungfuls of air, Hella watches her budding breasts rise and fall with each gasping breath. Pushing herself up into a sitting position, Hermione is a bit panicked as she speaks almost too fast to process.

"Hella!Whatisgoingon!? Whyarewenaked!?WhyamIinbedwithyou!?"

Hermione babbles all of that out in a rush, before a spike of pain clearly takes her, causing her to groan again and press both of her hands into her head and ultimately fall back onto the pillows. Snickering, Hella shrugs her shoulders, relaxing beside her brunette friend as she patiently explains.

"Last night was New Year's Eve, Hermione. You got called boring and someone made a comment that you probably read your precious books while you were with Krum alone, rather than doing anything more… exciting. Taking umbrage to this fact, you proceeded to drink your naysayers under and were about to go tell Krum of your victory when I stopped you from making any more of a fool of yourself."

Hella moves Hermione's head to rest on her breasts again, and while the brunette verbally protests with a whine and a whimper, she doesn't try to resist physically.

"It was rather dark outside by the time you wanted to leave, far too dark to see, so I convinced you to come upstairs and rest for a time instead. I was attempting to change you into your pajamas when you drunkenly started comparing our bodies and began to give me a very… hands-on inspection."

Even Hella was blushing a little bit as she explained, while Hermione was beet red and wide-eyed at hearing what sort of lewd tomfoolery she'd gotten up to while smashed. Honestly, Hella's tits would have the bite marks to prove her story true on them as well, if she wasn't a metamorphmagus.

"After you stripped me down, and I proved just why I'm the Gryffindor Champion, you ran out of energy and passed out still clinging to me."

Her statement hangs in the air for a long moment as she ends the story quite bluntly. Hermione remains very still and quiet for several long seconds, before finally speaking.

"Hella… why is my bum sore?"

Her question is accompanied by an even redder blush, as well as some shifting back and forth as she tries to avoid pressing too much of her sore bottom into the bed she's laid out on. Hella's eyes light up in remembrance and she smiles as she nods.

"Oh yes, I had to use your copy of 'Hogwarts: A History' to paddle you when you were being naughty. You make the cutest noises when you're getting spanked with a heavy book, let me tell you."

As she coos at her bedmate, she also reaches around to gently stroke Hermione's tender tushie, making the brunette shudder against her body and ultimately bury her face in Hella's breasts, only to freeze up as she realizes just what she's doing. Poor girl clearly couldn't think straight while suffering form a hangover. Smirking, Hella offers a way out that she knows Hermione will reject.

"Do you want me to call Dobby and have him find a potion to cure your hangover?"

Hermione scowls immediately and shakes her head almost wildly.

"O-Of course not. We shouldn't take advantage of House Elves Hella, you know that. Even those who are freed like Dobby still want to wait on us, hand and foot. It's wrong. We need… we need to teach them there's a better way."

Hella just sighs and shakes her head, disagreeing with Hermione, but not interested in getting into it with the other girl. Instead, she gives Hermione a salacious grin.

"Alright then… want me to kiss it and make it better?"

Hermione goes redder still, but when she doesn't respond in the affirmative OR the negative, Hella takes it as a yes and leans in to begin doing just that. Soon enough, Hermione is laid out on her front, while Hella is atop her, trailing kisses down the prone brunette's body, making her way from Hermione's neck, to her shoulders, to her back, and then further still, all the way to her ginger, tenderized butt.

It's really not as bad as Hermione is making it out to be, perhaps a little pink, but certainly nothing like some of the spankings Treowe has given Hella over the last several months. Of course, Hella fully acknowledged that she was a bit of a masochist. Maybe Hermione wasn't. Or maybe she was, and she just wasn't willing to admit it.

Regardless, aftercare was always important, something else that Treowe had taught Hella, and she was all too happy to kiss along Hermione's pinked bubble butt, before eventually moving on to giving Hermione something of a massage. There was certainly a lot of skinship, and a lot of fondling, and a lot of cuddling involved as Hella took charge of the situation, being the loving, caring domme to Hermione's whimpering, mewling submissive.

By the time she was done with her, Hermione wasn't thinking about her hangover anymore. So, in the end, Hella had gotten her that hangover cure after all, really…

-x-X-x-

As Hella sneaks through the deserted hallways of Hogwarts, she's not too worried about running into anyone or anything like that. But there are certainly particular individuals she wants to avoid. It's far too early in the morning of the first day of the new year for any but the most diehard schedule keepers to be awake right now… which meant that Ronald had been dragged out of bed in his pajamas and brought to the Potions classroom by now to continue his detentions.

A small part of her, very small indeed, pitied her ex-best friend for having to serve detention with Snape every single day over the holidays. However, the rest of her greatly enjoyed his suffering, feeling nothing but sweet, sweet vindication, as well as some amusement over the fact that he still managed to find the energy to complain to his dormmates every night after being released.

As both Neville and the Twins had mentioned, no one was really feeling any pity for the red head. More annoyance that he wouldn't shut up about all of the 'hard work' he was being forced to do, and all the verbal abuse he was suffering as Snape insulted and degraded him constantly over the quality of his work ethic.

It hadn't garnered him any sympathy from his own house, but interestingly enough, Hella had started hearing rumors about a stacked older Hufflepuff girl that had taken a liking to him, for some reason or another. Said Hufflepuff was apparently an assistant to Madam Pomphrey, and frequently helped restock the potions in the Hospital Wing.

Still, Hella assumed that it was mostly just in the Hufflepuff's nature to take pity on stupid and injured animals. Watching her tend to him and wipe his face clean during every meal was a sickening sight though, and one that had Hella glad that Ron had started eating over at the Hufflepuff table with this older witch, now a pariah in his own house.

Of course- Hella blinks, stumbling in surprise as she realizes that she's standing across from a tapestry upon which an insane wizard is attempting to teach ballet to Trolls, who are in turn in the act of bludgeoning him to death. It would seem her feet had managed to bring her safely to her destination while her mind was wholly elsewhere.

Backtracking to the end of the hallway and checking around the corners to make sure she hadn't been followed, Hella experiences a certain thrill of excitement at not being able to just vanish into thin air anymore, truth be told. She was enjoying having to build up her sneaking skills from the days of 'Hella Hunting' once more.

With the halls clear, the young Potter Heiress paces back and forth until the door of the Room of Requirement appears, and then hurries inside. Awaiting her is a comfortable chair besides a round table that holds all of the books Treowe had provided for her before Christmas, as well as the ones that his family had gifted her FOR Christmas. Only now was she actually finding herself with the time to begin heavily studying them, which had in turn led to her comparing them to the books one could find in the Hogwarts Library.

It had been rather startling when she'd first started comparing them. The first discovery had been the fact that the history books of Hogwarts had the pages of all sections save for those pertaining to the Goblin Rebellions stuck together from lack of use. Binns was an absolute trash teacher, but then, everyone knew it. Of course, in Hella's newly awakened mind, that just gave her one more failure to lay at Dumbledore's feet, truth be told.

After she'd gotten over that bit of stupidity, the next discovery had been the sheer ignorance she'd found in the Hogwarts history book. Their so-called histories were all focused solely on the magical side of the United Kingdoms. Voldemort had a larger section than the entirety of World War Two, in fact! Hella didn't much care to read more about Voldemort, truth be told. She'd found out enough about him to last her a lifetime, and much of it was first-hand experience.

With that said, she'd started focusing on the small tidbits about World War Two, instead. In the history books taken from the Hogwarts Library, the coverage of World War Two was mostly focused on Dumbledore's victory over the Dark Lord Grindelwald, with a lot of emphasis on how it was effectively an English Wizard that had ended the war.

However, Hella also had history books given to her by Treowe and his family that were written by those OUTSIDE of the UK… and they all roasted Dumbledore and his tactics. Or more specifically, they roasted Dumbledore's LACK of tactics. According to those books, Dumbledore and his allies hadn't come into the way until the very end, pretty much.

They'd then gone on to blaze a blatant path from where they'd arrived, straight toward Grindelwald's personal fortress. They'd completely ignored and refused to join up with any of the Magical Allied Forces, and many on the side of good had had to be diverted from their own operations as Dumbledore's actions had exposed their positions or just plain threatened their lives due to his lack of subtlety.

Worst of all, Dumbledore had apparently caused quite a lot of damage with his solo defeat of Grindelwald. In doing things HIS way and on his lonesome, he'd denied the Magical Allied Forces critical intelligence, as Grindelwald had looted or outright stolen a great number of magical artifacts, books, and relics over the course of the Nazi's War Campaign. Only he'd had knowledge of their location, and to this day, they were still missing.

On top of that, while Grindelwald was considered a magical powerhouse by the history books that had more than earned his title of Dark Lord through magical might, followers, and vile deeds, he was far from the only Dark Wizard among the Axis Powers. His defeat had provoked members of the German-led Thule Society into even darker magics.

This, Hella was shocked to find out, had actually prolonged the magical side of the second World War far longer than she ever could have imagined. Unlike their mundane counterparts, the last Nazi Occultists hadn't been stamped out until Nineteen-Fifty-Eight! Thirteen YEARS after the mundane side of things had come to a close!

Really, it was a travesty, a miscarriage of justice. It was- Hella blinks in confusion and pauses for a moment. A sudden realization hits her and a frown crosses her face as she flips back a page, to where it states that Dumbledore and his allies had arrived so late. Flipping forward again, she pauses as she takes in the fact that Dumbledore was credited with the solo defeat of the Dark Lord Grindelwald. Even the foreign history books said that much, while at the same time painting Dumbledore in a negative light for it.

Flipping and scanning through the next few pages, Hella can find no further mention of these so-called allies that Dumbledore had brought with him when he went after Grindelwald. As a sickening feeling arises in her stomach, she grabs the Hogwarts history books again and begins to scan through them for roughly the same time period once more. Their section on World War Two is of course much shorter, so she's not all that surprised that no one other than Dumbledore is so much as mentioned.

Hella's breath hitches, and she has to press a hand to her eyes to stop the tears as it really, truly hits her. Her parents had graduated from Hogwarts in Nineteen-Seventy-Eight and had been involved in the fight against Voldemort's campaign of terror within a year. Then they'd died in three years' time, just one year after her birth. Wormtail had turned traitor. Remus retreated into mourning and obscurity, shunned due to his werewolf status. And Sirius went to Azkaban, with not one person ever questioning his guilt.

Meanwhile, their enemies had been free and numerous enough still to stage a Death Eater attack at the Quidditch World Cup just earlier this year! Dumbledore… Dumbledore had always been the one person that Voldemort was afraid of, that he knew he couldn't win against. But the older wizard couldn't be everywhere at once, and his allies had paid the price for it, while his enemies had apparently flourished.

The funny thing was, Hella still didn't think Dumbledore was outright malicious or straight up evil. He was a controlling old man who obsessed over his Greater Good above all things. He… honestly, she wasn't really sure of his true motivations, but she imagined HE thought that he was in the right, no matter what actions he took.

But he wasn't. His inaction had led to the deaths of her parents and ruined the lives of so many other good people. He'd sat back and waited for her to take care of the problem for him, and now he was doing it again, clearly thinking that he could use her in some way, that she was the weapon he would be able to defeat Voldemort with.

The worst part is, he was probably right. She'd killed Voldemort three times now, in just as many different incarnations. She was probably the wizarding world's best bet at killing the Dark Lord again and again until he was eventually gone, especially given the training that Treowe was now giving her. But she didn't want to. Sure, she had a little bit of a saving people thing… but honestly, the last four years at Hogwarts had done a great job of stamping that out of her.

Hella was tired, and this revelation about Dumbledore's true nature, that while he wasn't evil, he was neglectful to the point of harm, only made her more tired, if she was being honest. Treowe wasn't paranoid about the Headmaster being dangerous. He was perfectly justified in thinking so, and she suddenly felt much less safe at Hogwarts than she already did before.

This place was a damn death trap, and she was stuck in the middle of it. She needed options. She needed an escape hatch. And she needed it fast.

 **-x-X-x-**

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	17. Chapter 17

"Good night, Alice."

Treowe can't help but smile as he kisses the forehead of his second youngest sister. The little girl yawns cutely from the tiredness of a full day of playing, her long black hair spread out across her pillow, and even as her eyes begin to drift shut, a grey-green Kneazle with blue-black spots slips under her covers and up into her arms. His aqua-colored eyes stare up at Treowe from the darkness under the blanket, and Treowe's smile widens a little.

"And good night to you as well, Chess."

He receives an intelligent meow in response, and the glowing aqua eyes shut and disappear into the darkness as the Kneazle goes to sleep as well. Treowe then turns to the bed on the other side of the room and bends over to repeat the process with his youngest sister Joan, her single braid of caramel hair hanging off her pillow and along the bed beside her. Unlike Alice, Joan leans up as he leans in, still apparently having enough energy to give him a good night hug before she collapses back onto her bed.

Chuckling, Treowe lays a kiss on her forehead as well, smiling lovingly at her.

"Good night, Joan."

A flapping of wings alerts him to Joan's own animal companion as the orange and yellow owl takes up his night watch post on the headboard of Joan's bed.

"Good night, Michael."

Michael the owl gives him a hoot in response, and an owlish salute of the wings before tucking his head in, though with one eye always visible, always watching… ever vigilant. Treowe, meanwhile, steps back into the center of the room and flicks his wand up at the ceiling, casting the Nightlight spell to create a dim field of stars across the ceiling, before leaving the bedroom and his younger sisters behind.

Once outside, Treowe stretches and yawns himself, working out all of the kinks in his back and muscles from having spent most of the day, as well as the days previous to today, playing with his younger sisters. Couldn't let them see him ache, it was the same as letting your soldiers see you bleed, really. Little sisters could sense weakness, if you let them. His little sisters hadn't exactly been happy about him not coming home on time for the Yule holidays, and they'd made that fact pointedly clear to him these past few days.

Well, Alice and Joan had. Sanna denied having missed him, as she was growing up into a young woman and did not need her big brother anymore. Well, that was how she acted anyways. When Treowe actually posited the idea that she had grown up and didn't need him anymore, Sanna actually got an interesting shade of red, sputtering and scowling at him and telling him not to be ridiculous.

She didn't ever actually say she DID in fact need him, but Treowe took what he could get. He had pouted and wailed in distress that his little sister did not want him anymore, that she did not want his hugs, or his head pats, or anything to do with him. Then, when she'd gotten too close to him, Treowe had snatched her up into a hug and spun her around as she screamed at him to let her go and to put her down. All while he just widely grinned at having caught her in his grasp.

His grin had grown a bit brittle and forced afterwards however, when Sanna had primly explained that her growing body was proof of her maturity into a young woman, rather than the girl she once was. He didn't want to see her that way, not really… and yet, he was beginning to wonder just how she saw him. Sanna was beginning to sneak glances, and that was a worrying sign that he really had lost a little sister to the 'joys' of womanhood.

Still, with him there at home, they had all been able to join Vera, his immediate older sister, in Bicorn riding. None of the majestic creatures had done more than glance at him when he approached, thankfully, and they'd had a good time of it, with Vera holding Joan in her lap and him holding Alice as they rode around the family lands. Sanna was old enough to ride on her own finally, another sign that she truly was growing up, and she was ridiculously easy to keep track of as well, her black hair flowing behind her in the wind quite visible with all the white, snow-covered fields.

Vera had lasted longer than he expected while holding Joan and trotting along, before she'd finally broken and kicked her Bicorn into high gear, galloping off much to Joan's loud whoops of joy. Alice, of course, had wanted to go faster too, and Treowe had never been able to say no to his little sister. Sanna had brought up the rear, yelling at them all for being so impetuous and reckless.

But she should have expected as much. Vera was as wild, free, and unbroken as the Bicorn that she rode, with the sunlight catching in her caramel hair and turning it auburn. If Treowe had to guess, he'd have said that she was probably more fit these days than even he was, what with all the physical activity and labor that came from taking care of the Bicorns.

She reminded him of that one Disney Princess that had come out a bit before he'd found himself reborn in this new world. Scottish if he recalled, wielded a bow… but bah, he'd never seen the movie itself, only heard about it in passing via cultural osmosis. He couldn't remember the name. In the end, it didn't really matter.

As Treowe enters his room, his thoughts are already turned towards tomorrow. It would likely be more playing and more practicing with his sisters. If he recalled, they'd decided they were having a tea party, a disguised lesson in social etiquette and good manners, dressed up as playtime. Treowe had no doubts that he would be pulled into that. With Leala and Shelbie working on fixing his condition, mother currently busy making plans for future social events, and father mostly stuck at the Wizengamot as a new year brought with it a new budget, Treowe was left managing his younger sisters with the help of his immediate oldest.

Not that he minded, really. Not one bit-

"Good evening, young lord Treowe."

His thoughts are promptly derailed by the simple greeting, his name breathed in a sultry, seductive manner that just oozes sexual undertone. Glancing to the side, Treowe is greeted with the familiar sight of Zari's duskily skinned, tanned mother lounging on his room's couch. She's completely naked of course, her inhumanly beautiful body on full display as she splays herself for him, showing off. Half her face was concealed by the veil of her shining ebony black hair, but even the one visible eye he could see was enough to freeze him in place.

"Good evening to you as well, Madame Valentina."

It was an instinctive, automatic response at the end of the day, even as his brain stalled and then slowly shifted into the mindset he would need for this encounter. As he accepted the fact that Zari's mother was in his room and had even brought her own personal couch with her, Treowe untenses, ever so slightly. One of her spoils from a summer trip to France, the couch was the kind that an artist would draw naked French women on, with one end having a taller backing than the other.

Madame Valentina was settled at the end with the lower backing, allowing for her wings to stretch and spread out behind her. Her large and bountiful chest was on full display, the dark areolas swollen and the light catching them as they glistened with barely contained milk. His dick went from soft to almost painfully rigid as she breathed and that simple breath caused her massive mammaries to shift and jiggle, the display of overt sexuality, made all the worse by her crossed legs switching and briefly flashing her hairless and wet cunt, before concealing it again between her thighs. Her rounded ass was plainly visible over the side of them as well, tantalizing in its hidden nature.

"Zari hasn't been able to stop talking about you since you returned home, young lord. She hasn't been able to stop talking about how you tasted either."

The emphasis on the word 'tasted' is not lost on Treowe as Madame Valentina positively purrs, taking a wine glass full of a golden-white vintage and slowly swirling it around for a moment before sipping from it. Unable to help himself, Treowe's eyes track the intended path from her full lips to her slender neck, to the thick golden collar and the large gemstone resting betwixt her breasts.

After a moment, she sets down the wine glass.

"I'm disappointed that you haven't been by to see me though. Especially during such a critical time in the development of your relationship."

The scolding has the intended effect of sending a shiver down Treowe's spine, his dick twitching and straining within the confines of his pants as he finds himself holding his breath for a moment.

"Come sit with me?"

It's an offer but also an order all in one, with her spade tail slipping out and patting the open spot beside her. Treowe swallows thickly, and begins taking off his clothes, only making somewhat of a show of it, slowing down for her enjoyment, knowing that he was incredibly overdressed for the 'conversation' that they were about to have. But to be fair, he'd seen this coming. He was ready for it. He was ready for her… or at least, he hoped he was.

-x-X-x-

His head laid out on her perfectly smooth and completely tanned legs, not a single tan line in sight, Treowe finds himself staring not up at Valentina's massive swinging breasts but a little lower than that, at the bump of her formerly flat stomach, which until he'd gotten closer and Valentina had sat up, had been concealed by the pose she was striking. He stares, even as a hand of sharp, manicured nails combs through his hair and rubs his scalp. His head leads into the pleasurable sensation, leading him away from her breast.

Of course, she'd gotten pregnant again. The state of his own mother's pregnancy made it obvious that she was carrying multiple new children, with good odds of at least one of them being another son. In comparison, Madame Valentina's body being nothing less than perfection would have easily distracted his father. Not that Valentina's pregnancy subtracted from her beauty at all. If anything, it enhanced the succubus and would continue to do so as she developed further along.

To be fair, the men of the Morton Family seemed to have an almost genetic predilection for breeding, and a shared pregnancy fetish a mile long, to say nothing for what they thought of large assets on their women. Feather light touches of fingers glide along Treowe's shaft as Madame Valentina touches him with her other hand, while her spade-shaped tail cups his balls and slides back and forth along his churning nut sack.

"Now tell me, what has you so distracted that you seek comfort in the company of your sisters, instead of coming to feed from me."

Her voice is coaxing and seductive, even as her tail squeezes his round balls like she's checking for the freshness of fruit.

"There was a time that you could not be separated from my breasts and their ever-flowing milk, after all."

Her tone is one of nostalgia as she reminisces, trying to lull him further and further into the safety and comfort of her familiar embrace. Treowe's body and face both heat up in embarrassment from the reminder of his younger years, where the raw emotions and underdevelopment of his mind and body had hampered much of his previous life's memories and knowledge. But an attachment to big, honking titties had manages to come through loud and clear, further reinforced by the milky goodness they provided him.

Removing him from a teat once he'd latched on while he was still nursing had been rather difficult, and necessitated Madame Valentina coming in to take on the position of wet nurse in order to free up Treowe's mother of the responsibility, especially with the birth of Sanna.

In the end, Valentina wasn't just Zari's mother, she wasn't just a mature, beautiful Succubus. She had been his wet nurse, his nanny, his governess, and even his tutor in a variety of subjects, and not all of them had been sexual in nature. There would be no holding back the truth from Madame Valentina. Hell, this gorgeous inhuman woman had personally changed his dirty nappies as a baby, rather than leaving it to the House Elves.

"I'm… afraid…"

He releases those two words in a breath, discovering just how liberating it felt to not have to be the strong one for once, to not have to be the bent ear, to be able to admit his weakness from carrying the weight of the horrible future war to come if he failed to change the course of history, if he failed to save Hella from those who wanted to do her harm.

"What has you so afraid, little stallion? What has you so disturbed, in a way that not even the front seat you had to your uncle's death has affected you the same?"

Valentina's voice is honestly curious, as well as concerned. And it's a fair point, in the end. Treowe had watched his uncle, the previous Lord Morton, die right in front of him. And yet, he'd come out of that without breaking down in his succubus nanny's lap as he was now. She was right to be worried, truth be told, even as she melted the stress of the last few months away via her tender ministrations across his body, slowly stroking his cock and balls with her hand and tail at a rate that was very nearly as teasingly painful as it was breathtakingly pleasurable.

"… Hella Potter. She's powerful and dangerous. The stories that they printed in her absence without her knowledge are nothing but a pack of lies, but even still, she lives up to the reputation they've set forward. She learns spells as fast as I can teach them to her, she overpowers her magic in a way I couldn't manage even with years of practice. There are moments when her magic and emotions run so wild that I don't question why the Dark Lord tried to kill her as a babe in her crib."

Treowe lets out a shuddering breath, before succinctly bringing his thoughts on the subject to a close.

"She is the Queen piece on the chessboard, Madame… and whoever controls her, can turn the tide."

He knew that Valentina would appreciate that metaphor. They'd played no small amount of Chess over the years, with the Succubus Matron being the one to teach him how to play the game in the first place. Treowe had lost no small number of them to being distracted by her cleavage, just as much as he'd lost to her actual skill in the strategy game.

Hella might have hated all those lies about her, and she was certainly pissed off when Treowe had brought up the problems with wizarding copyright laws that allowed people to sell merchandise and fictional stories using her name and likeness without her permission, but truth be told, she didn't quite seem to have any idea how much she lived up to the stories with her innate magical power.

His sisters had doubted his claims and even wondered if HE was lying when he'd recounted the tales of all that Hella had done over the years during her short time so far at Hogwarts. Honestly, he could understand why. The Harry Potter books as he'd read them would fit right in with the fictional lies that had been written and published and sold all over the wizarding world over the years.

"… And what have you done to insure that you are the one that has this Queen? What have you done to make sure that you steal her out from the hands of the other factions that seek her allegiance?"

Valentina's inquiring words come along with a squeeze to his shaft that has Treowe groaning. Just as Treowe had used sex and affection as one of the many means to keep Hella close, though by far not the sole leash to bind her to him, and he to her, Madame Valentina had taught him how to do that, and effectively done it to him as he grew up. Not that he minded having a beautiful MILF of a succubus like her so interested in him.

Nor did he distrust her. She was his, and he was hers, even more than Zari could ever hope to be… but not quite to the level that Hella would always be, if Treowe had a say in it. Madame Valentina knew her place, unlike her slightly more rebellious daughter. As such, Treowe answers simply and truthfully, knowing that the beautiful succubus would give him what advice she could, or at the very least respite.

"I believed her… when all others doubted her. I taught her, when they would have preferred, she remain ignorant. I've been guiding her, illuminating the paths ahead and showing her just how far the trail of breadcrumbs they've laid in the dark extends. I have remained at her side even as the road has become difficult and others have allowed themselves to get distracted away from her or abandoned her altogether. I defend her from the enemies that she has no defense or preparations against, while at the same time exposing them to her."

Each statement he gives is rewarded with pleasure that has Treowe panting, his hot breath hitting the underside of her looming, milk-laden tits. He would have continued, he would have said more, but the hand running through his hair and massaging his scalp suddenly shifts to support it at the back, while at the same time guiding him up to her swollen nipple.

Treowe doesn't hesitate, opening wide to eagerly suckle from Valentina's breath, even as the Succubus Madame releases a breathy moan. Warm milk fills his mouth, and Treowe drinks long and deep, grateful as ever that the Succubus didn't bother with taking the simple counter potion that would have stopped her breasts from lactating quite so much as they did.

"Relax, my young lord. Relax and rest in this moment. Let go of your worries for the future. Be secure in the knowledge that you have plenty of time to prepare for what is to come."

Her voice drifts over his ears and into them, sliding across his mind as he drinks from her breasts, even as his body relaxes while his cock remains hard and ridged. Treowe milks Valentina, drinking directly from the tap, and in return Valentina milks Treowe right back for her own feeding. She's working towards his release in earnest now… but Treowe isn't the little boy he once was.

Instead, he holds himself back, relying on his iron will to keep from cumming too fast. He does want to cum, of course, and he will cum… but he's decided he won't cum until the Madame Valentina does, he's decided he's going to make her cum from her tits alone, from his mouth on her breast. Sucking, licking, and clamping down on her nipples one after the other, Treowe drinks and drinks, attempting to drive her over the edge first.

He has the slightest advantage in that Valentina wasn't expecting it, she wasn't expecting this to turn into a competition, and for a moment, she's taken off guard. Then, she lets out a breathy laugh and redoubles her efforts, and Treowe knows instantly that in this challenge, he's going to lose. It was always a long shot, to be fair, trying to one up a mature MILF of a succubus and beat her at her own game, that being sexual pleasure, but he still tries his best.

When Treowe finally does cum, it's into a magically expanded bottle, which he knows Valentina will keep and savor for later, his seed flowing out of his enlarged, churning balls as he groans into Valentina's breast, still drinking her sweet, delicious milk. Her hand, still on the back of his head, rakes through his hair as she chuckles throatily.

"It was a valiant attempt, young lord. But as sensitive and full as my breasts are… you'll need a little more than that to get me."

-x-X-x-

Never one to back down from a challenge presented as an offer, Treowe soon finds himself sinking his cock into Madame Valentina's warm, wet snatch from behind, sliding in over the course of several seconds until he finally begins to bottom out inside of her. He holds himself there for a moment, and then slowly pulls out, even slower than he thrust in, pushing himself up to extract his member from her depths.

The muscles of her inner walls squeeze around him like another pair of lips. They don't quite stop him from withdrawing, but with how slow he's currently going, they do pleasurably impede his progress and make his arms tremble with the sensation. Meanwhile, Treowe's shuddering breaths are blowing across the dusky skin in between Valentina's wings.

The little flicking twitches of said wings are the only sign Treowe has at the moment that the beautiful Succubus MILF feels anything from his panting breaths teasing one of her most sensitive spots. Meanwhile, hums of pleasure and sighs of contentment are his rewards as he lowers his body back down against her own, sliding into her velvety depths yet again.

Prone on her couch now, Valentina is laid out beneath him, while Treowe lays over her, taking her from both above and behind, fucking her with deep, penetrating thrusts. He starts out slow, working to maintain the set pace, even as his throbbing, pulsating, altogether lustful cock and achingly eager balls demanded that he go faster.

His libido was quite insistent that he go faster and dump his seed inside of the fertile female beneath him, even if she was currently pregnant. The influence of her Lust Magic made such desires all the stronger even when they weren't logical, all the more enticing as Treowe thrusts in and out of her ever so slowly. Because at the end of the day, what was the point of all of this if he just went as fast as he could and spent himself inside of the buxom, beautiful MILF of a Succubus?

What was the point, if he couldn't control himself? He was his own master, not his desires, not his libido. Treowe Morton was more than just his cock, and he was proving that, both to Valentina and himself, even as he used said cock to fuck the gorgeous Succubus to his heart's content. In comparison to Zari, Valentina's mastery of Lust Magic was… it was like the difference between a Two Star Restaurant and a Five Star.

Madame Valentina's proficiency with Lust Magic was comparable to sitting down for a private dinner with your lover and being unaware until the very end that the floral scent permeating throughout the entire meal had come from her instead of the bouquet centerpiece in the middle of the table. It was as subtle as it was spectacular. He didn't even know she'd worked her magic on him until after he'd cum, and his body showed no sign of stopping now.

His fingers dig into the couch they're laid out on, even as Valentina's round bubble butt rubs against the bloat of his milk-filled stomach. He'd almost certainly drank too much, but he was too busy reveling in being ball's deep inside of the MILF to care about an upset tummy. He had more important things to worry about right now.

Like for instance, could he maintain the set pace with his libido currently magically enhanced? Could he still perform while tired and gorged on warm, creamy milk that was currently doing it's best to lull him to sleep? Could he resist humping into Valentina like some dog while having mounted her prone form from behind? This was the test, and he knew that the MILF of a succubus beneath him was presiding over it, just as he knew she'd be grading him later.

But more than just passing her test, he wanted to beat her at her own game still. He wanted to make her cum, just this once. Part of him suggested that he should go fast if he wanted that, but he knew better. Valentina was a Succubus. She was a full-grown succubus, with all the power and experience that came with that. She was used to being fucked hard by men, used to being gangbanged and plowed silly by mortals who thought she was nothing, who thought they could treat her like their own personal slut pig, only to find out too late that they were the pigs to the slaughter instead.

To woo a full-grown succubus, one had to focus on the mental as much as the physical, and even the spiritual as well to an extent. Zari, he might have used for relief, for fun, for pleasure and practice, and even to alleviate boredom… her mother, however, was more. She was the final exam to prove his worth. To make sure that he could control himself and the marriage he would one day have, both in and out of the bedroom.

His father was never supposed to become Lord of House Morton, even before most of his family had been lost to the war, and certainly not even after the war had ended. However, the best laid plans of mice and men and all that, and with tragedy striking, Treowe's father was Lord Morton, whether the man liked it or not. In turn, Madame Valentina had become the power behind his father's throne, the Succubus Liaison between the Lord Morton and the succubi who lived on Morton Lands.

She would not give up the position easily, and that had translated into refusing to lose to any woman who would attempt to take control of the family via it's heir's cock. Basically, she had spent years training Treowe to resist her predations, simply so that he could resist any others who tried it, anyone else who thought they could get to him through his dick and through sex.

It was- a slap to Treowe's ass jolts him forward and out of his thoughts as Valentina's spade tail comes around, waving in front of him. It was a nonverbal reminder that stopping or going too slow was just as bad as going too fast. She would and could buck him off in a heartbeat and leave him with a magically induced hardon and no relief in sight.

Right, it was time to get serious. Reddened face resolving with determination, Treowe focuses solely on the task at hand, not allowing himself to get lost in his own thoughts again, as he so often tended to do. He had one goal and one goal only… and though she was trying to avoid showing it, he could tell he was getting closer to it.

On top of that, cumming as he had once before had allowed his own release to take a little while longer. This was good, because Treowe wasn't going to lose, not this time. Even if it wouldn't be much of a victory, even if it was one win against a hundred comparable losses, Treowe wanted it. He wanted it more badly than he'd ever wanted anything in his whole life.

So, he works for it as he's been taught, by his father and mother, by his older sisters, by Madame Valentina herself. He works for what he wants, putting in the time and effort, doing what he can here and there to tease and play with the beautiful MILF of a Succubus before him. And it pays off. He holds back his own release, until eventually he feels it.

It's not a sudden thing, but a slow thing. It has to be coaxed out of her, bit by bit, inch by inch. When it finally is, it's a low moan, rather than some cry of ecstasy. But Treowe feels it, and he knows at this point what a woman's orgasm feels like, he knows what a succubus' orgasm feels like. Valentina's inner walls flex and squeeze and milk at his cock in a way that Treowe knows is not conscious. Her spasms, her seizing… it's too sporadic to be on purpose. Her cunt muscles flex around his cock as she climaxes under his ministrations, and in the end, her release milks him of his own.

His seed fills Valentina's cunt, for all that she can't be bred when she's already pregnant. Treowe groans as he fills her with his ejaculate, luxuriating in having made her cum. Slowly, he pulls out of the beautiful, gorgeous MILF of a Succubus, watching as she levers herself up. She's not tired or exhausted or anything like that after just one orgasm, but she does have a pleased look on her face, and a bit of respect in her eyes that wasn't there before as she regards Treowe with adoration which had in turn ALWAYS been there before.

"My young lord… I'm impressed with you."

Treowe feels his chest puffing up in pride at that, but his pride turns to confusion when Valentina suddenly steps away from him, moving over to a corner, only to reveal a bound and gagged Zari under an Invisibility Cloak in the corner. He blinks and stares a little, surprised but at the same time not. Zari had clearly been there the entire time, forced to watch and tied up in a way that her fingers could only just brush against her needy, soaked slit from the look of things.

Moving back to her couch, Valentina just smirks at the two young ones, glancing back and forth between them before her gaze ultimately settles firmly on Zari.

"Perhaps now, daughter of mine, you have learned a little something about how to greet your master properly when he comes home from a long trip."

And then the Madame snaps her fingers, and a House Elf appears, popping both her and her couch away in the blink of an eye and leaving Treowe and Zari all alone in his bedroom. Treowe can't help it… he laughs, chuckling as Zari whines and whimpers and squirms, growing redder in embarrassment by the second. He considers letting her go for a moment… but it really has been a long day, and he needs his rest. Shaking his head at the young succubus, he gives her a mischievous wink… and then flops down onto his bed.

He's asleep within seconds.

 **-x-X-x-**

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	18. Chapter 18

Hella twitched and fidgeted as she made her way towards the Room of Requirement. Her thighs rubbed against one another down between her legs, and she was walking a bit funny in an effort to keep her legs close together. A slickness originating from her cunt was slowly and teasingly trailing down her inner thighs. She had an itch that needed to be scratched, but then that was the crux of her current dilemma, wasn't it? Treowe was gone, and Hermione was off with Krum for a Hogsmeade weekend. Hella was bereft of anyone to take care of her… needs.

She knew that she was making it worse on herself by deciding to go to the Room of Requirement in her current state. After all, previous experiences had conditioned her body to expect its needs to be taken care of within the Room of Requirement. She and Treowe had met up there more times than Hella could even count, and each and every time they'd… Hella cuts off the traitorous thoughts and stops to steady herself against the nearest stone wall as her body shudders in need and want.

She had been taking care of her own pleasure during Treowe's absence, aided by a book from Treowe's sisters as well as a second tome borrowed from Parvati that had instructions for female pleasure, but it all lacked a certain intensity that she had come to enjoy from Treowe. Not even the addition of a 'use in case our brother's dick is unavailable' toy from his sisters could fully satisfy her. As pleasurable as it was, as much as she enjoyed it, playing with the toy only lasted as long as she did… while Treowe had gotten her used to the pleasure going beyond her own stamina as he'd pushed her past her limits again and again.

Really, she should have stayed in her own bed to take care of this, but it hadn't been possible. She'd worried that another girl might walk in on her taking care of her problem, and it certainly wouldn't be Hermione. Mostly though, she kept all of her toys stashed away in the Room of Requirement where no one else would be able to find it or her without a whole lot of luck.

Her body heats up even further at all these lewd, lustful thoughts, and she squeezes her legs tighter together, even as she bites her lower lip. Her hands drift across her robes to the outlines of her curves and slide along the inside of her legs as a faint whimper tries to escape from her lips, as tightly pressed together as they are. In the end, she has to ball her hands into fists and beat them against the cold stone, the fresh pain focusing her mind enough that she can push off of the wall and get the rest of the way up to the Room of Requirement.

She had an itinerary damn it, and she wasn't going to let her own libido control her. She would get to the Room, she would reward herself with pleasure until she'd finally managed to calm her raging libido down, and then she would finally study some more of the books on Magical History that Treowe had left behind for her.

The last time she'd been able to get some time to herself to read, it was the Egyptian Gods and Goddesses that had caught her attention. She'd especially enjoyed the theory that they may have all been wizards and witches that intentionally messed up their Polyjuice potions by mixing in animal parts to give them their half human, half beast appearances just like Hermione had during the second year. There was also a theory that they had been using an older, more powerful version of the Animagus spell that had ultimately been lost to time to change into a form between human and beast.

It was all very interesting, and Hella was eager to read more. She hurries back and forth along the seventh-floor corridor in order to summon the Room of Requirement, and then she hastens inside. Distracted as she is by bother her body's wants and her mind's thoughts, it takes her a second to realize that the Room is already occupied. She doesn't notice, in fact, until after she's closed the door behind her and turned to stride further in, only to stop dead in her tracks.

Sitting in the middle of the room on a large cushion, an ancient house elf in little robes rested. And when Hella says ancient, she MEANS ancient. The thing is like, Dumbledore-old. She can't stop herself from staring at the wrinkles upon wrinkles that cover it's exposed head, large ears, tiny hands, and feet. An old, house elf sized walking stick, gnarled and withered, is laid across it's lap. The wide-open eyes that she's used to seeing on every house elf she's encountered before now are nowhere to be found, instead this one has his quite closed shut, even as he slowly breathes in and out.

"A picture you should take. Last longer, it will."

The old, squeaky voice startles Hella out of her stupor, as well as makes it obvious that this ancient house elf is a he.

"Been with the Morton family for the better part of a millennium, I have. When this age, you reach, look half as good, you will not."

He lets out a low cackle as she recoils at the image his words have spawned. His eyes never so much as creak open, but his head still turns towards her all the same.

"Force be with you, Hella Potter. Sent me to get you, Young Master Treowe has."

Hella is completely nonplussed by the house elf's way of speaking. Of course, she's never seen Star Wars, so she doesn't get the reference. This house elf on the other hand… Treowe had gone out of his way to show all of the Morton House Elves the original Star Wars trilogy, and then, as a bit of a joke but also to placate the excitable creatures, he'd convinced them that Yoda was a House Elf, and the greatest one to ever exist at that, as he'd taken care of the entire Jedi Order.

Needless to say, this had resonated with the elves of House Morton, just as it likely would have resonated with House Elves everywhere if he took the time to show them as well. In the end though, seeing what he wrought, Treowe had stopped with just the Morton house elves. That had been more than enough, in his humble opinion.

But of course, Hella didn't know any of that. She didn't know that the ancient house elf was very much mimicking Yoda, as was his right as the oldest of the House Morton elves. She couldn't know that. But at the end of the day, it didn't matter. Once she got past his strange speech patterns and realized the actual meat of what he'd said, Hella was all too happy to toss aside her confusion in the face of Treowe's name.

"Treowe?! Treowe sent you? Where is he? How is he doing? What… why has he sent you to get me?"

She finds herself speaking a mile a minute as her heart soars at the mere mention of her love and the chance to have contact with him again. Her feet quickly carry her across the room to the ancient house elf and she kneels before him, wide-eyed and earnest like nothing else.

"Be at peace, Hella Potter."

He raises one hand in a gesture to calm her, though it does little to stop Hella from practically vibrating with excitement.

"Doing well and waiting for you at his home, Young Master Treowe is. The chance to keep his promise to have his sisters examine you, he finally has. Now, while the great and powerful wizard is busy and distracted at the Ministry of Magic, we must go."

Her emotions are all over the place, shifting from relief that Treowe was fine, surprise that he still remembered and intended to keep the promise to get her checked out, and a sheer thrill at the chance to break the rules to do what needed to be done. When the wrinkly little elf before her stretches out a hand for her to take, Hella grins as she covers it with her own hand. A moment later, they both vanish with a pop.

Meanwhile, up in the empty Headmaster's Office, a magical device stills in confusion as the blood source it was designed to track suddenly went in two separate directions. Had it's function been more complicated, it might have attempted to swing back and forth between the two sources of blood that matched the sample held within it, however it's simplicity was the very reason for it's continued existence in such a magic-rich environment.

In the end, the device simply settles on the closer source, returning to tracking it's charge and reading for any who looked that the blood of Hella Potter remained within the walls of Hogwarts, safe and sound.

-x-X-x-

It took Hella a moment of blinking dumbly to realize that they'd moved, and their surroundings had changed. Mostly because she'd been instinctively bracing herself for the usual bullshit that magical transportation did to her. It certainly wouldn't have been out of character for her to be flat on her back or on her face right now, retching from the sudden shift in time and space.

Surprisingly, she felt fine, and it took a while for both her body and mind to catch on to the fact that they'd moved at all. Still, the shrinkage of the room and the lived-in feeling that the bed and the other furniture projected made it obvious that they'd changed locations. She could now add transportation by House Elf to the short list of magical travel she actually enjoyed, alongside flying on her broom and riding on the back of a Hippogriff.

"Young Master Treowe's bedroom, this is."

The wrinkly old elf speaks, and Hella snaps her attention back to him, finding him to still be sat on the same cushion as before as his ears twitch at her.

"At home while waiting for him, make yourself. Aware of your arrival, I will make the Young Master."

He waves his gnarled stick at the room around him even as he delivers the command. Hella nods and stands up, brushing down her robes before politely thanking the small house elf.

"Thank you for your assistance in bringing me here."

Taking in more of her surroundings, Hella can't help but admit to a growing curiosity of just what sort of things her lover might fill his room with.

"Cost me nothing, this task has. To you and your parents, a much greater debt is owed."

His voice is quiet and solemn, and Hella's heart twitches in pain at the mention of what she had lost, even as she turns back to the ancient house elf to give him her full attention.

"A time I feared that the Morton line would end and leave us without a master or mistress to serve, there was."

She listened intently, because while so many proclaimed her a hero, few besides Treowe had ever explained what she actually saved them from.

"Survive the loss of so many of our masters and mistresses in such a short period of time, not all of us did."

His voice was mournful even as he paused for a moment, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Hella found herself considering what Dobby would do if she died. The wailing would certainly be intense, and her killer would likely not be long for this world as Dobby 'helped' them on to their 'next great adventure'.

"Stopped caring for masters and mistress to avoid suffering again, others did. Twisted by the Dark Side, they allowed themselves to become…"

The ancient house elf bows his head and shakes it sadly from side to side as his ears dip and fall. After a moment though, he straightens up again, as much as he CAN straighten up, and his demeanor becomes happy once more.

"But! Recovered and serve new young master and little mistresses, we have!"

His eyes open, showing entirely milky pupils as he looks up at her with a wide grin, his gaze somehow twinkling in mirth.

"More to follow in the future, perhaps. Soon, perhaps?"

Hella blushes as he waggles his eyebrows expressively at her, and her mouth falls open at the implication even as the ancient house elf smiles smugly. Letting out another little cackle, he disappears with a pop a moment later, cushion and all, leaving Hella by her lonesome in Treowe's room. Her stomach flutters at the idea of children. Honestly, she'd barely even come around to seeing herself as a young woman rather than a girl just this year. The tournament alone had practically thrust her into adulthood though.

Was she ready to be a mother though? Especially a mother to magical children? She'd barely even begun to learn of the responsibilities and duties that she should have been fluent in well before this year. She'd only just started to scratch the surface of what would be expected of her once she graduated from Hogwarts. What if she fucked it all up? What if she ruined everything?

Needing to distract herself from such thoughts, Hella forces herself to focus on the room around her once more. Treowe's bedroom… how could she not be intrigued? Looking around, she's not surprised to have Treowe's preference for darker tones all but confirmed. Not to say that he was an all-black kind of guy though. There were dark green curtains on the windows and a dark green cover on the bed, there were dark blue pillows, and it was a dark brown wood that made up much of the furniture.

Briefly, Hella considers stretching out across his bed, carpet, or furniture and posing in her underwear in order to greet him when he arrived… but ultimately, she discards the idea, given she has no idea how long she might be waiting. Instead, Hella makes her way over to Treowe's closest bookcase and begins to peruse his shelves.

To her surprise, she finds that the bookshelves are filled mostly with mundane fiction, mostly fantasy and science fiction. The normal names and still pictures on the books gave that much away, as wizards and witches tended to come up with more eccentricity in their titles, and they ALWAYS had moving pictures on the covers of their more modern tomes.

Sure, she remembered that he knew about The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings books, but for such interests to dominate the bookshelves of a Wizard that already lived and breathed the very essence of the magical world-

"Hello Hella."

A familiarly deep voice interrupts her thoughts alongside the door clicking shut behind him as he steps into the room. Hella is in the middle of flipping through one of his fantasy novels, and the suddenness of his arrival causes her to nearly leap out of her own skin as she drops the book to the carpeted floor below.

"Heh, good thing Hermione isn't here to lecture you, if you're going to treat my books like that."

His voice has a small warning to it, but it's teasing more than anything else, and Hella can practically hear his amusement in his voice. Smiling wanly, Hella reaches down to pick up the novel, with knights and a wizard fighting a dragon and a witch on the cover.

"Sorry about the book. I didn't hear you come in-!"

Even as she begins explaining, twisting towards him, Hella freezes at the sight before her eyes. The very first thing Hella sees is two large black hooves standing out against the lighter colors of the carpet. As she straightens, her throat clenches as her eyes trail up from the hooves to the black digigrade legs covered in fine short hairs that fail to blend in with the robes Treowe is wearing. The elf said he was doing well! He'd come home to seek treatment, not get worse!

Her mouth moves, opening and closing, but no sound comes out as she sees the more recognizable features of the flicking tail and the two curved horns he still has as well. At the same time though, Treowe doesn't look upset or concerned… in fact, he's grinning widely at her without a care in the world as he approaches her, his fee- no, his hooves softly clopping across the floor. Slowly, he reaches out to take the book from her trembling fingers, reshelving it back on the bookcase before pulling her into a hug.

"I missed you."

He breathes that into her ear, even as strong toned arms wrap around her and press their bodies together. Her nipples and breasts rub into his chest through their robes, even as his dick immediately begins to grow and return the favor down below. In an instant, Hella's slightly agape mouth is invaded by Treowe's tongue, and her lips are captured by his hungry maw.

Needless to say, she melts into the sensation even as she wraps her arms around his neck. His own arms are already around her, separated with one pressing against the back of her head, combing through her hair, while the other has made its way down her back and is now squeezing her bum. Hella moans needily into Treowe's mouth, happily allowing herself to be collected into his embrace and molested to his heart's content.

They spend several long moments with their bodies pressed so closely together, hungrily reminding each other of the feel, taste, sight, and smell of one another. But eventually, Hella's curiosity and altogether worry for Treowe wins out over her own body's needs, and she pulls apart from him, stepping back and frowning in concern.

"What happened to you, Treowe? The horns and tail were bad enough, but… but you've gotten worse now! What's going on?"

Treowe lets out a soft sigh as he looks at her in exasperation, a bit of frustration creeping into his voice.

"Can't let it go for a little while, can you?"

Hella shakes her head in the negative and Treowe just sighs again, stepping further back away from her. His hands move to his robes and he pulls them open to reveal he's nude underneath, with the hair on his transformed legs going all the way up to his waist. His cock and balls, meanwhile, have become all the more eye-catching, having darkened in tone and changed in texture.

Removing his robes completely, Treowe sits on the edge of his bed and rolls his shoulders for a moment and lets out yet another sigh, before shaking his head.

"Without getting into family secrets that I'm very much not allowed to speak of, all I can say is that there were wizards and witches in the past that came under similar afflictions to mine, and we have access to poorly documented records of just how those wizards and witches were cured. My sisters attempted a cure from a case that matched my symptoms closest, but obviously it failed and accelerated my condition instead of fixing it."

He stops for a moment and holds up a hand, likely to ward off whatever Hella might have had to say about that. She wasn't sure what she was going to say, but he was right that she'd wanted to say something. She hadn't even met his sisters yet, and as long distance as their correspondence had been, they'd been nothing but nice to her… even still, she couldn't help but feel indignant and angry at them on Treowe's behalf… something he clearly saw coming based on his next words.

"My sisters have punished themselves enough over their failure already, Hella. You don't need to worry though, we have access to other methods, other more powerful magics that can and will fix this."

As he explains, Hella bites her lip and nods, following along well enough. As long as he'll be okay… though, even as she stands there listening to him, her nostrils are beginning to flare, her nose picking up a potent scent that has her breasts rising and falling faster and faster as she in turn breathes in and out through her nose. Her lips both above and below grow wet with hunger as she finds that she can't quite stop staring at the changes to his cock and balls.

Entranced by them rather than revolted, Hella knew she was a weird girl. After all, she'd felt the same way when he'd first appeared with his horns and tails. Treowe is still speaking of course, still explaining, but his deep voice is becoming a steady background noise instead, and Hella has to confess, she's not really listening anymore. Instead, she finds herself moving and kneeling down before him, fondling his balls with one hand while the other guides his cock into her open mouth.

Her tongue barely touches his dick before she finds herself sucking it down her shifting throat, using her metamorphmagus abilities to swallow his cock to the base even as she moans in pleasure at the taste. Her tongue, which gets just a tad longer in order to accommodate Treowe's transformed cock, roams up and down his length, feeling the grooves and ridges along his new member, even as hands settle on her head and comb through her hair.

"Hella…"

Treowe moans her name as she worships his cock and gives attention to his balls, slobbering and slurping and sucking at his member nonstop. His length is… it's different to be sure, but not in a bad way? Oh, it's very bad in the way that it represents Treowe's continued transformation and threatens his ability to interact with the wizarding world, but in a sexual way… Hella just can't get enough of it.

Sucking him down, deep-throating his cock, Hella uses her flexible, stretching throat to milk Treowe's dick of his seed. She drinks down his cum without pause when it finally arrives, swallowing every last drop of it as she's learned to do in the months that they've been together now. After he gives her his first release, Hella pulls back and lets his cock slip out of her mouth with a pop even as she stands up and removes her robes, revealing her panties and bra underneath.

Eyes that were lustfully and greedily watching her undress narrow into a glare and gritted teeth reveal themselves as Treowe growls dangerously.

"You know I hate that set, Hella…"

His tone sends a thrilling shiver down her back, even as Hella looks down and realizes that she's currently wearing the Gryffindor red and gold that she likes best. Really, if she'd known she was going to see him today she would have worn one of her dark green and black sets instead, but how was she supposed to anticipate an ancient little house elf spiriting her away from Hogwarts?

Rather than try to make excuses however, Hella just smiles slightly, staring down at his beastly visage as Treowe glares at her.

"Oh? And what are you going to do about it?"

Her challenging tone proves to be more than enough to have him suddenly up off the bed and stomping towards her, advancing even as Hella backs up in retreat, until eventually her back hits the wall and Treowe looms over her menacingly. Hella isn't afraid though… she's just more aroused. One hand pulls up her bra, sending her massive mammaries bouncing free, while the other sticks itself roughly down the front of her soaked panties and begins mercilessly fingering her cunt.

The moment she opens her mouth to cry out, his lips are capturing hers again and his tongue is invading her mouth. His fingers twist and shift around inside of her, changing positions and angles nonstop as they pump in and out of her sopping wet quim. Hella moans and cries out into Treowe's mouth quite wantonly, until he suddenly breaks their kiss, freeing her to take in gasping breaths of air even as he shoves her bra up above her head, turning the gold and red undergarment into a pair of shackles to keep her arms bound up above her. Her breasts thrust out as her back arches in ecstasy, and Treowe is quick to capitalize on that, taking one nipple into his mouth before soon alternating to the other.

Her drenches panties are yanked down her legs and off of her body entirely, and Hella happily spreads herself open for Treowe as best she can, even as she moans happily and profusely.

"Please, please fuck me… I need it so bad Treowe, I've longed for you for every hour of every day you've been gone!"

His cock, all lubed up by her mouth, rubs across her belly and strokes along her nether lips. His mouth alternates between her nipples, and his tail swings around from side to side to slap at her ass. Hella shudders under his rough exploitation of her body, but it's all worth it when he suddenly grabs her by her hips and lifts her up against the wall.

In an instant, he spears her on his dick, impaling her on his meaty shaft and filling Hella with every last inch of his length. Her legs wrap around his waist of course for support, given she can't currently wrap her arms around his neck. The grooves and ridges on his cock that her tongue felt earlier turn out to be ribbing and rings that drive her crazy as they slide along her insides again and again.

Hella cums over and over on Treowe's transformed dick, her eyes practically rolling up in her head eventually, her tongue writhing around outside of her mouth, trying to find his even as he spends all of his time worshipping her fat tits. His hooved legs are better able to support her weight, and once she's fully impaled, he even steps back from the wall, taking her with him. It's then that Hella figures out she CAN wrap her bra-bound arms around his neck for support, bringing them down over his head and holding on for dear life as he bucks up into her, fucking the ever-living daylights out of the needy witch.

This was exactly what she wanted though to be fair. It was exactly what she needed. So Hella lets herself get lost in the pleasure, lets herself climax again and again around Treowe's big fat cock as she moans wantonly, losing all semblance of control, giving it all up to Treowe, to the love of her life. She's finally back where she belongs, finally home again, in his arms, impaled on his dick. All is well, all is right with the world once more.

-x-X-x-

A few hours later, after their enthusiastic reunion has come to an end, Treowe finds himself slowly walking down the hallways of his home with Hella leaning on him for support. Her hand is in his even as his other arm is wrapped around her back as he slowly leads her towards his sister Shelbie. Her bra-less breasts are pressing into his arm, and their movement causes her to repeatedly shift in her position against him, causing her to stroke her robe-clad body across his own.

His tail comes up under her butt and glides along the fabric that rests over her curvaceous bottom, further supporting her, but more than that, trailing over her otherwise panty less butt and hips. Her breathing comes in deep shuddering breaths as she tries to walk with quivering legs while keeping from spilling his seed and her own sexual fluids onto the carpet overly much.

He had not returned her undergarments to her once they'd finished fucking. Underneath her robes, she was as nude as he, aside from the socks and shoes that she had on in comparison to his furry legs and hooves. Not that Hella had fought him all that hard to try and get her underwear back. Maybe she rather enjoyed that he had taken them and was even secretly thrilled by the thought of discovery. Treowe would return them to her when she actually had to leave… probably.

Honestly, he really did hate that set of red and gold. Said hatred actually had little to do with it being Gryffindor colors, and a lot more to do with the fact that red was most associated with warnings and danger and violence, as well as the simple fact that his previous life had been chalk full of video games that had conditioned him to regard red as the enemy, the opposition, the side that stood in the way of victory.

Most games tended to default to blue being your team, while red was your enemy, with green taking the place of either neutral, allied, or convertible, and yellow was always the target or objectives. Hogwarts had simply further reinforced that mindset with House Rivalries, as it seemed like Treowe couldn't go a single day without some Gryffindor in red and gold trying to get in the way.

"He looks a lot like you!"

Hella's sudden gasped exclamation pulls Treowe out of his musings though, and he blinks as he looks to where his love is pointing as they pass by a room. Within the room is a portrait, and Treowe chuckles slightly as they stop for a moment just inside the library, her bow-legged strides coming to a halt right alongside his gait as they stand before the portrait of his ancestor. Well, he stands… she slumps against him for support.

"Lord Hector Morton the First, also known as The Black Rider. Granted his lordship by Duke William of Normandy for his distinguished service at the Battle of Hastings. He led a cavalry of Bicorns into battle that caused the English infantry to break ranks in fear at the sight of the riders' demonic steeds coming to feast on them."

Treowe chuckles as he offers this explanation of just how important the black-haired, green-eyed man in the picture is. Wearing black armor, Lord Hector Morton certainly cuts an imposing figure… made even more imposing by the two horned, spade-tailed black horse with a white mane and beard next to him in the painting.

"It'd be more accurate to say that I look a lot like him, Hella."

"Yes. You'll find that just about all males born of the Morton bloodline tend to share similar features in both looks and body."

Treowe startles, but not nearly as badly as Hella does as a familiar, motherly voice fills the air just behind them. Smiling slightly as Hella nearly jumps out of her skin again, Treowe turns them both around before Hella has too long to look at and study the picture and start drawing conclusions that he would rather avoid for the time being. Instead, he refocuses his lover on the caramel-haired, pregnant form of his mother in a beautiful white dress, standing in the doorway of the library. Clearing his throat, Treowe gestures with his free hand.

"Heiress Potter, allow me to introduce you to Lady Rhiannon Morton, Matron of Her Tenders, and my beloved mother. Lady Rhiannon Morton, mother… this is Heiress Hella Potter, my fellow Champion of Hogwarts, and my beloved."

As he finishes the introduction, he sends a silent apology Hella's way and then steps back. It's only appropriate that she stand on her own two feet in such an important meeting after all. Luckily for her, she doesn't collapse… but that's about all that can be said of her conduct, in the end. There would have been more formal greetings between the two witches now that he was done, but Hella was caught frozen with a deer in the headlights look on her face, even as his mother closed the distance between them and pulled her into a hug.

The poor girl was obviously completely at a loss by the sudden show of motherly affection, but Treowe knew it wasn't his place to 'save her' from this, not that she needed saving. Even as his mother whispers into Hella's ears, Treowe steps out of the library to give them a few minutes. He might not know exactly what his mother says to the younger witch, but he can guess. Probably something along the lines of thanking her and her parents for their heroism and sacrifice and offering sympathy for all that she'd lost. Knowing his mother, she would also probably tack on her blessing for good measure, given that she'd already told Treowe she was quite eager for grandbabies and that she thought he and Hella were an absolutely perfect match.

Unfortunately, the happy meeting is cut short by his mother's advanced pregnancy, and the emotional upheaval exhausting her. Seeing this from his spot at the doors of the library, Treowe calls Binky to his side and steps forward, even as the Lady Morton has to take a seat.

"Hella, please follow Binky the rest of the way to my sister, won't you? I need to take my mother back to her room so she can rest."

Looking quite wide eyed and shell shocked by whatever it was that Rhiannon Morton had said to her, Hella just nods and follows Binky out of the library, while Treowe helps his mother back to her feet and supports her down the hall in the opposite direction. He waits until they've turned a corner before chuckling.

"Really mother? Should I have transfigured one of the chairs into a swooning couch for you to faint into?"

His mother's massive bosom and her child-birthing hips take turns bumping into his body as they walk, making Treowe ever so grateful that Hella was now here for the taking while Zari was in a pleasure coma. Looking at him with a soft smile that's not at all tired, Rhiannon chides her only son.

"Now, now, Treowe. You have had that precious dear all to yourself for months. Let your sisters get to know their future sister-in-law without you around for a bit. Spend a little bit of time with your dear mother instead."

That was exactly what he was afraid of, leaving Hella alone with his older sisters… the only thing worse would be his mother showing off the family albums to the girl.

"You certainly have been taking care of her these last few months, haven't you? The girl looks so much more developed than the first pictures you sent us. You know, you were such a small thing when you were first born, not that that lasted long with how much milk you could tuck away. Why, I…"

As his mother continues to ramble on and on, doing what she does best and controlling the conversation, Treowe smiles affectionately and comes to terms with the fact that his mother was going to keep him occupied and unduly embarrassed for the next while.

-x-X-x-

Attending to his mother had of course included joining her for a snack, as well as an extracted promise that she get to see Hella again for either lunch, dinner, or both as time permitted. His mother had been all too eager to talk his ear off, as such, he hadn't been there when Hella finally managed to make it back to his room. Instead, he was the last to arrive. But the sight he found as he entered his bedroom more than made up for it.

Naked in front of his full-length mirror, it was obvious that Hella's short encounter with his very pregnant mother had affected her even more than she'd let show. Standing there, Hella was clearly practicing and messing around with her metamorphmagus powers, as she now sported a quaffle-sized orb of a belly, with her belly button having popped out.

Treowe stood there mesmerized by the sight of her falsely pregnant belly, even as she slowly roamed her hands over it and turned from side to side to look at the results of her experimentations. His dick began to rapidly rise up in desire and lust at the sheer rightness of the sight. The primal instinctive part of him declared 'MINE!' even as Treowe found it incredibly easy to picture the black haired and green eyes sons and daughters that would result from their union.

Making sure to stay out of her sight through the mirror, Treowe slowly strips off his robes and moves… no, stalks across the room, even as Hella smiled in a sort of motherly sense at her reflection, clearly completely enraptured by the image. She stared down at the orb of faux life she was holding in her hands, even as he moved into position behind her.

"I know- "

He begins to speak, only for Hella to shriek in surprise and back right up into him. Treowe's dick presses up against her from behind, even as her eyes fill with fear as she looks at him through the mirror. Treowe pauses only for a second before continuing on.

"I know that the males of my bloodline are known for our virility, but this has to be the fastest pregnancy I've ever seen."

He makes sure his tone is teasing as he speaks in jest, even as he watches Hella nearly hyperventilating, not out of lust or excitement, but fear at his discovery of her. When her pregnant orb of a belly begins to twitch and shift, Treowe frowns.

"Don't."

He orders that with force as his arms wrap around Hella and fall on the shifting mass of flesh that is his beloved's midsection.

"Please, don't change a thing Hella."

He pleads with a softer tone, and she freezes at that, even as her shifting flesh settles down. His hands rest on the firm warmth of her swollen form, his fingers massaging against her gravid belly, amazed at the replication of pregnancy that she's managed from having just met his mother one single time.

"T-Treowe… I… I…"

She tries to speak, but quickly loses her nerve and ducks her head, submitting to his ministrations even as Treowe leans into her neck and repeatedly plants kisses on her flesh, nipping and licking as well for good measure, even as his hands just can't get enough of her impersonation of a pregnant young lady carrying life within her. Leaning her head back to give him better access, Hella rubs her butt up against his stiff erection and moans throatily.

"You what? Just wanted to try it out yourself. Wanted to see how Pregnancy would suit you?"

Hella moans and manages to nod in agreement with his words. Grinning, Treowe chuckles.

"I say it looks wonderful on you. You're making it very hard for me to just let you leave now, you know. I just want to take you to my bed and lay you down where I can feed and take care of you, like a heavily pregnant queen carrying my heir."

As he coos this into her ear, Treowe moves one hand up from her belly to her breast, even as Hella shudders and shivers with delight.

"S-So… so this isn't, ah, freakish?"

His arms wrap around her tighter at that, and the intense desire to curse and hex the Dursleys into oblivion spikes sky high not for the first time since he and Hella have begun their relationship. But that would require leaving Hella's side at the moment, and Treowe refused to do so. The miserable excuses for human beings would live to see another day… for now.

"No, of course not. This is perfectly natural, Hella. And dare I say it, even instinctive. It's completely normal for a young woman to long for motherhood, in my opinion. Especially just after meeting an older woman who is visibly pregnant. Hell, even my sisters and their friends have all at some point stuffed pillows under their robes in order to pretend to be pregnant."

Treowe grins here and lays some more kisses along Hella's jawline.

"You, my dear, as a metamorphmagus, manage to beat them all of course. You can pretend so much more… effectively. I love this look on you Hella… I can't wait for it to be real, someday."

Hella blushes profusely at that, even as Treowe picks her up and sets her on the edge of his bed. Hella looks up at him like she's a character right out of one of those anime he watched in his previous life, with the innocent pregnant girls looking all cute and shy about having their sexy pregnant body exposed to their significant other. That's what Treowe is getting from her right now, with her shining green eyes and her veil of black hair, even as he slowly, just like with Madame Valentina, saws his dick in and out of her.

Falling onto her back fully, Hella moans wantonly and Treowe is treated to the most appetizing sight as he watches her enlarged belly and her big fat titties bounce and shake under his lovemaking, all while her features contort in pleasure under the slow sensations, he's providing her. She makes the absolute cutest faces as he takes her slowly.

But, eventually Treowe does speed up, pounding into her as Hella gets used to being fucked while pregnant, moaning wantonly as her inner walls clench and squeeze inside of her, all around his cock, trying to milk his release form him. But of course, Treowe won't allow that, not until he's ready to cum. Not until he's satisfied his beloved to the best of his abilities.

It takes time, of course. But then, everything worth doing takes time, and this is no different. He fucks Hella into an incoherent mess, but unlike the many times he's done that before, this time around she's a pregnant incoherent mess, and that makes it all the hotter. Filling her with his seed is just second nature at this point, and Treowe happily curls up with Hella cuddled into his side afterwards, just resting with his beloved as they both bask in the post-coitus glow.

That's when Zari shows up, of course.

"Master, Master! Look at this new string bikini I got~"

The young succubus, disguised in her human form at least, bounces into the room wearing a string bikini that's about to pop off from sheer tightness. She stops dead in her tracks of course when she sees he's with Hella, her eyes zeroing in on the young woman and recognizing her immediately as Hella Potter, Treowe's beloved.

For a moment, Treowe thinks the situation might actually be recoverable. But then a wicked sort of grin spreads across Zari's face and she licks her lips as she transforms back into her true form, revealing her succubus traits in all their demonic glory.

"So… you're the one that thinks she's good enough for my Master."

As Hella slowly begins to rise, still a bit out of it but starting to process the situation all the same, all Treowe can think is one single word that sums up the situation quite perfectly.

Fuck.

 **-x-X-x-**

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 **Thanks for reading!**


	19. Chapter 19

As Leala Morton slowly made her way down the hall towards her sister Shelbie's office, she winced ever so slightly. Her fat arse was incredibly sore at the moment, and the shifting of her dress back and forth caused her bum to object to every step she took. If her derriere had it's say, it'd probably have her lying stomach down on her bed, recovering from her punishment. Luckily, despite how big and plump it was, her arse did NOT have a mind of its own.

Truthfully, Leala had no excuse for her failure in curing her brother. She should have factored in the simple fact that the potion she'd attempted to use to help fix Treowe had been used on one of her early ancestors when their Bloodline traits were only JUST beginning to manifest, not after whatever had been done to Treowe was done. Not only had the potion failed, it'd had the opposite effects on her brother, who was the result of generations upon generations where the bloodline had proved dominant and it's blessing had been further enhanced, time and time again.

Briana, her childhood Succubus and altogether best friend, had such a talent for correcting Leala's failures and punishing her mistakes when she fucked up as she did. The Succubus' tongue was especially acidic when confronted with simple idiocy, such as the boys that wanted to mount her and have their way with her as they attempted to impress her with their so-called 'accomplishments'.

Honestly, Leala really didn't know why Shelbie got so jealous of her attracting so many hormonal pigs to her doorstep. Piggish men who inevitably turned out to only be able to regurgitate the so-called 'facts' that they'd been taught at that most prestigious institution called Hogwarts. Honestly, their 'knowledge' wasn't worth the parchment it was written on outside of the British Isles. Little Treowe had helped her dodge quite the hex by insistently begging her not to go there all those years ago.

Sighing, Leala comes to a stop in front of Shelbie's office, preparing herself for some inevitable clash with her sister. The two of them loved each other very much… but that didn't mean they didn't have their argument, and frequently at that. Slipping a strand of her ebony black hair out of her face, Leala reflects that she'd spent too much time keeping it bound up and covered in her potions laboratory. She would need to put aside some time to take care of it later.

Pushing open the door, Leala's eyes immediately settle on the two cushioned loveseat sofa sat across from Shelbie's desk, rather than a chair or two. She immediately rolls her eyes at the intended insult, well-used to Shelbie's acidic wit at this point. This one wasn't even all that clever. Oh, her ass was so big that each cheek needed its own cushion? Honestly Shelbie, get some new material…

Turning to her sister, expecting to see a smug smirk, instead she finds Shelbie Morton behind her desk, nursing a glass of amber liquid, white-knuckled grip on the enchanted glass, and her entire arm experiencing tremors as her hand shook, before she finally took a long gulp that drained the thing. Shelbie quickly grabs the bottle that she has out on her desk, refilling her glass and then pouring another glass to half-full, pushing it towards Leala's side of the desk. Staring at her sister's distant gaze, Leala slowly moves forward, settling down onto the loveseat, which truth be told, is heaven on her sore bottom, regardless of Shelbie's intentions.

"Heiress Potter's examination not go well?"

Even as she asked the question, Leala found herself wondering how badly it could have gone to reduce Shelbie to this… 'self-medicating' state. Her sister the Mediwitch releases a giggling laugh that starts high and manic before turning low and broken at Leala's inquiry. In the end, she shakes her head, staring down at the results in front of her.

"Hella Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived, Vanquisher of He Who Must Not be Named, and Savior of our little corner of the Wizarding World… is broken, fucked up beyond belief, and oh, also completely and utterly impossible!"

At that loud declaration, Shelbie takes another swig from her glass, before continuing on in a more normal tone.

"We had a lovely conversation about how sweet and kind Treowe is to her, about how he's a good man, in between me explaining all of the tests I was running on her and trying not tb be completely horrified at my findings, or how her body got into such a shape to give such results in the first place."

Leala considered taking the bottle away, but knew it was a lost cause. The bottom left drawer of Shelbie's desk was stocked with more of them anyways.

"Shelly… how much have you had to drink tonight?"

Using her sister's nickname is enough to get the Mediwitch's attention, and she snorts as she gestures at the scroll on her desk.

"This is the first bottle, but I expect it'll be the first of many. See how far you get into THAT before you join me, yeah Lea?"

Leala purses her lips together as Shelbie leans back in her chair, clutching her glass with both hands and wearing a knowing look.

"If Treowe hadn't already vouched for us, if we hadn't sent all those helpful gifts we did… I doubt I would have been able to get even this much out of her."

Finally reaching forward, Leala pulls the scroll over and opens it up, quickly scanning past the agreement between Shelbie Morton and Hella Potter that allowed the examination to take place and kept such findings private aside from Leala herself in case the Potions Mistress needed to adjust Heiress Potter's potions regiment.

The first thing that caused her to pause were the two sets of measurements and the notations in between them. The ones taken today, and the ones taken back in early November… and the fact that the increases between them were no few inches. Holding the scroll in one hand, Leala uses the other to grab the offered glass for a gulp. Fortified, Leala puts the glass down and stares at her sister, who looks back at her knowingly, nodding and

"This… this is too fast. She's gained far too much, far too fast, in far too short of a period of time. I know Treowe stated she was a Metamorphmagus-!"

"Yes, which may have played a part in her rapid growth, among other factors such as the potions regimen you have her on, but those are the actual measurements of her body now, without her using the ability to further enhance her figure."

Leala bites her lower lip at that. That wasn't what she wanted to hear; truth be told. But Shelbie wasn't done yet.

"It was such a hassle to get her to relax her body enough to check for that without resorting to magic or potions that might through off the results. And all because she was obsessed with using her abilities in shapeshifting to hold Treowe's seed inside of her!"

Leala snorts at that, at Shelbie complaining about a patient making things more difficult because of their fetish. Really, neither she nor Shelbie had room to talk on whatever kinks that Heiress Potter had developed from being exposed to Treowe. She still remembered the first time Treowe had spanked her ass and reprimanded her for being too vitriolic to Shelbie after coming out of a particularly rough Pensieve session in which she'd been observing memories from Snape's lessons and 'teaching style'.

She had learned far too much about how to verbally destroy someone, and not nearly enough about potions themselves from the man. Severus Snape was an amazing Potions Master, but he was an absolutely terrible teacher. Shaking her head of such things, Leala focuses back on the scroll, shifting it down and bringing up the next section, which had to do with the overall health of the subject's body.

Her eyes scan over it, stop, and then look over the top of the scroll at where Shelbie is currently refilling both of their glasses with more liquor. Then, she turns her gaze back to the scroll, rereading the bit that had caused her pause. Apparently, Hella Potter had been going through a cycle of fasting and feasting for the past few years, eating well for a good portion of the year, and then eating barely anything at all for the other part. And that said nothing about the girl's history before she'd started at Hogwarts.

Leala grimaces and shifts her abundant ass across the sofa she's sat upon. Her anus and reddened bubble butt both flare in pain, but she can't find the energy to care about that in light of the obvious evidence that the Savior of the Wizarding World had been starved for months at a time for years, and not even after arriving at Hogwarts had anyone said or done anything about it!

She'd known in a sort of abstract way that it was a possibility, given what they'd previously read in Treowe's letter and seen in the pictures. But she'd obviously been in a state of denial, refusing to believe that anyone would have allowed this to happen to the one that had ended such a fearful part of their history.

Glass scrapes against the wood grain of Shelbie's desk as she pushes forward another serving of liquid courage. Leala's shaking hand tightly grasps it and pours the burning liquor down her throat. Slamming it back onto the desk, where her sister calmly and casually refills it for her, the Potions Mistress gathers herself for the question that she needs to know the answer to, if she's going to continue helping.

"How… how long?"

Shelbie leans back in her chair again, taking a deep breath into her lungs, and then releasing it in a manner that almost seems to deflate her.

"All of her life, that she remembers. From both what she said and didn't say, her situation drastically improved once she arrived at Hogwarts."

Ten years then. Ten years of Hella suffering after she and her parents had paid the price to bring all of the rest of them peace. And then, even after she'd arrived at Hogwarts, every summer she'd suffered some more. The worst part was, Leala knew who was to blame as well. Only the most powerful wizard in the British Isles.

All those years, Albus Dumbledore had spoken up time and time again. Whenever anyone so much as questioned where their savior had gone, Dumbledore had been there with a grandfatherly smile and a twinkle in his eye, reassuring them all that the Girl-Who-Lived was safe and being taken care of in a loving, if secluded environment. Lies, all of it were lies!

Not that there weren't plenty of wizards and witches, whole families of them even, who didn't trust Dumbledore as far as they could throw him, but for him to lie about her living conditions, or worse, be ignorant of them… it was inexcusable! Leala and her entire family had already known for quite a long time that Dumbledore was not to be trusted. Their Grandfather's Portrait would speak at length about the subject of Albus Dumbledore. Too much power, too many titles, too much knowledge hoarded and taken for himself… and at the center of it all, a man too convinced of his own cleverness, of his own infallibility.

There were no shortages of families that would have happily taken in the Potter Heiress, many of them even clamoring to do so after the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters had been finished off. Oh sure, some of them Leala knew were likely Death Eaters or Death Eater sympathizers who had managed to get off easy in their own right. She knew for a fact that Lucius Malfoy had certainly thrown his name into the hat for the task and giving Hella to HIM would have been even worse than what had actually happened.

But for every Death Eater claiming to have been imperiused, there were a dozen families of good, honest people who would have happily raised the Potter Heiress to be happy, hale, and whole. To know their culture, to know their people, to know her role in their world's history. Unfortunately, infighting had destroyed any sort of chance for a united front o having her brought out of wherever Dumbledore was hiding her. Convenient that everyone who had been closer to the Potters then Dumbledore himself was had ended up disqualified, dead, or worse.

Fuck! Leala downs another glass of liquor as she realizes where her mind had begun to go. Any subject involving Dumbledore could make one downright paranoid over every little detail that the powerful aged wizard may or may not have touched. Refocusing herself on the scroll in front of her, Leala moves onto the next passage. Bone density, of course, was still on the thin side due to Hella's appalling lack of proper nutrition. Very small doses of skele-grow among the potion regimen that Leala had Heiress Potter on had been correcting that deficiency. It was especially necessary given that Hella played Quidditch and had a knock for trouble finding her from what Treowe's letters had mentioned. Such as that dragon breaking loose during the First Task. Still, Leala was just the Potions Mistress, Shelbie was the Mediwitch.

"How is the bone density coming along, in your opinion?"

Shelbie hums as she tilts her glass of amber fluid one way and then the other in thoughtful contemplation.

"If Heiress Potter were to stick to the activity level of a normal witch and regularly consume more dairy from here on out, I would suggest that you could stop the skele-grow treatments. However, given the events currently taking place at Hogwarts, along with her love for Quidditch… my professional opinion is that you continue to supple her with doses for at least the rest of this month. That should give her bones sufficient density for her more active lifestyle, without potentially putting undue stress on her skeletal structure and eventually weighing her down."

Leala nods at that, making a mental note. Yes, there was a reason that every wizard and witch in the wizarding world didn't take skele-grow on the regular like some sort of muggle daily vitamin. It would be nice if it could work like that, but even continuous small doses of the potion could be harmful to one's health if there was nothing left to repair. The muggles had these things called bone spurs that they had to deal with sometimes… overdosing on skele-grow was far, far worse.

Revealing more of the scroll, Leala comes to the next session, with a large bold title in cursive.

 _ **Hella Potter's Health Hazards**_

In cursive, bolded, AND underlined. Lifting a brow, Leala reads on, only for fresh horror to fill her chest. To her shock, the Potter Heiress had never been inoculated against ANY of the common household magical illnesses. While their magic made them immune to normal viruses and diseases, much of the wizarding world was still vulnerable to a variety of magical malignants instead, some of which were quite lethal to them.

There were adult witches and wizards in full health at the peaks of their respective magical power that had died in short periods of time when they caught some of these illnesses. Even with potions and magical treatment available, they could only slow the progress and make the patient comfortable once some had caught on. Which was why there were vaccines for this sort of thing, inoculations given to every magical baby just after their first birthday.

"How quickly-!"

"Already sent my House Elf off to St. Mungo's with a letter to my old teacher. Not to worry, she knows how to keep a secret."

Leala slumps at that, nodding. She should have expected Shelbie to already be on top of the situation. Meanwhile, her sister stares at her empty glass, and the equally empty bottle that could no longer refill it for a long moment of silence. Then, the Mediwitch is suddenly standing and hurling the empty bottle across the room, where it shatters on contact with the wall. Her body trembles in barely restrained fury as she launches into a loud tirade against both Dumbledore and the Hogwarts Nurse, Madame Pomfrey.

She screams about the competency or lack thereof among the staff at Hogwarts, and rants about how maybe she should just go to Hogwarts herself to make sure the job gets done right for once. All while reaching down to pull out another bottle from a lower drawer of her desk. She's still muttering expletives and curses towards Dumbledore under her breath as she refills both their glasses and then flops back down into her large office chair, gulping down her drink.

"… Keep reading. It only gets worse."

Leala pales slightly at that. That's what she'd been afraid of. Still, as the Potions Mistress in charge of brewing Hella's potions regimen, she needs to know, so she goes back to pouring over Shelbie's findings.

The next item on the list was of course the infamous scar. Which had apparently contained very dark magic, previously… but now had only lingering traces left to tell them what had once been there. Whatever darkness had existed in Hella's lightning bolt scar had slowly drained out of it over a period of the last two months. Which put the time of when it had started draining out at around Samhain… when Treowe and Hella had first met, and ritually sacrificed her virginity.

Biting her lower lip, Leala looks over at her sister.

"The scar… what is… no, what was it?"

It had always been a hotly debated topic, how exactly Hella Potter had survived the killing curse with only that scar to show for it. Before the girl had come back to the Wizarding World, most had believed that part of Dumbledore's story to be a lie. They'd assumed that something more sensical had happened, like perhaps Dumbledore showing up at the last second and defeating Voldemort before he could do unto young Heiress Potter what he'd already done to her parents.

But then Hella had shown up, and that angry zig-zag of a scar had been right where Dumbledore had said it was. Needless to say, it'd put the magical academic community into quite the tizzy at the time, back during Hella's first year at Hogwarts. So yeah, the scar was… strange. And apparently, now it was disarmed, in no small part due to Treowe's actions. But that didn't mean Leala didn't want to know what it was.

Shrugging, Shelbie gestures with the glass in her hand.

"No idea. I would have been able to get more information if I'd been able to examine her months ago, before she'd come into contact with our little brother."

Leala scoffs at that, knowing Shelbie better than that.

"Fine then, your best guess on what it was?"

Shelbie's face turns towards a macabre smile, but that doesn't last long.

"My best guess? It could have been anything, Leala. A death curse, a dark magic parasite, a fragment of You-Know-Who himself, it doesn't matter anymore! Whatever it was got expelled or consumed or whatever by the power of the ritual! The ritual that Hella Potter somehow managed to perform without any prior training or knowledge of the old ways!"

Leala leans back at the intensity Shelbie is demonstrating, but at the same time, she understands where her sister is coming from. Rituals were some of the most powerful magic that a wizard or witch could perform. They were also considered a mostly lost form of magic. The only reason most rituals weren't outlawed in the British Isles was because the books that had taught them were already restricted and banned for other reasons, and thus mostly nonexistent by this point.

For Hella Potter to have successfully completed a ritual she had no knowledge of on Samhain, the one day of the year where the living world and spirit world were close enough to interact with one another… it spoke of a prodigy, really. Hella was powerful, and very clearly a magical savant. Of course, Hella wasn't the only factor in that Samhain Ritual, now was she?

"The Black Wind…"

As she utters those words, both Leala and Shelbie shudder and fortify themselves with more alcohol, even as they're reminded that there had always been something… off about their little brother. And it'd only become more and more evident as he grew older. Neither of them, nor their parents or Madame Valentina, were particularly stupid. All of them saw, all of them noticed, and they'd even had private meetings over the years about Treowe's… otherness when he was otherwise occupied or away from home.

His sheer knowledge of things he shouldn't have been able to know, or things he hadn't even been taught yet, had startled them time and time again. It would have been easy enough to explain if he'd had the Sight… seers were a very real thing in the Wizarding World, a commodity that did NOT go untapped. There was an entire section of the Department of Mysteries dedicated to prophecy, after all.

The problem was, most of the knowledge that Treowe had possesses was found to be that of the mundane world. On top of that, he'd always acted much older than his actual age, a polite young man with manners even before he was old enough to be taught what such concepts were. But none of the past incidents could hold a candle to the latest and biggest bout of strangeness.

Treowe had suddenly attached himself to the Potter Heiress, completely without warning. Previous years, he'd done everything in his power to avoid being anywhere near her, and his comments on her and her friends' activities year after year had always been disdainful and disgusted. Though, now that Leala had a chance to think about it, that disdain and disgust had never been directed towards Hella. No, it had always been for the adults who were supposed to be looking out for her. Especially Dumbledore.

Treowe hadn't acted with such fervor and decisiveness since he'd made sure that she, Shelbie, and Vera never attending Hogwarts. Without Treowe's involvement, Leala knew she would have gone to Hogwarts. Mother and father had been more than willing to pay for her tuition with their share of the family wealth, knowing that Uncle Thomas certainly wasn't going to, what with the man's outdated views on women.

But if she had gone to Hogwarts, she would have wasted years studying under Severus Snape personally, and after seeing pensieve memory after pensieve memory of exactly what sort of lesson plan the Potions Master used, Leala could say without a doubt that her time would have been wasted, and her interested on the subject of Potions might have been completely destroyed by the time she graduated, if she'd ended up in any House besides Slytherin.

Draining her glass again, Leala moves the scroll along, her eyes scanning over the next passage slowly. Blinking at the frantic writing about Heiress Potter's womb, Leala finds that much of Shelbie's scribbling is either indecipherable in its hastily scrawled text or goes right over her head. Grimacing, Leala eventually gives up and just asks Shelbie to elaborate directly, gesturing at the scroll as she looks at her sister.

"So… Hella Potter is… sterile, or something?"

Shelbie releases a long sigh of suffering at Leala's ignorance, which in turn attracts a glare in response from the Potions Mistress. She was NOT ignorant; she was simply specialized. Shelbie was the Mediwitch, Leala was the Potions Mistress. She could make a potion to heal just about any ailment but figuring out what ailment the wizard or witch had was beyond her skill.

"Heiress Potter isn't sterile, infertile, barren, or suffering from any known defects to her reproductive organs. She has, however, somehow managed to put her entire menstrual cycle in complete stasis for the last THREE FUCKING YEARS!"

Leala's mouth falls open at that declaration. There wasn't a potion or spell that could stop that cycle. Ease it, yes, delay it, also yes, but stop it entirely?

"Treowe can fuck her and cum inside of her until her womb positively sloshes with the fullness of his seed, and he still won't be able to get her pregnant."

The giggle that Shelbie lets out at the end there is more than a little drunken, but she's not done quite yet.

"And the funniest part is? She didn't even realize that she HAD done it, nor that she could do it, until AFTER I told her what she'd done to herself! At least we were able to figure out the cause together. When she experienced the horror and pain of her first period, she ended up laid up in the Hospital Wing for an entire day. Only for Madame Pomfrey to tell her that it was part of growing up and would happen monthly, while leaving out the consoling addition that subsequent periods wouldn't be as BAD as the first one."

Shelbie shakes her head.

"The damn nurse terrified Hella so badly that she unconsciously used her Metamorphmagus ability to stop the entire cycle the day after she got out of there. She'll need help undoing what she's done to herself at a later date, of course."

Last surviving member of the House of Potter, and she's unintentionally prevented herself from continuing her own family line. If Shelbie hadn't examined her now, the years to decades she could have gone on trying and failing to have children of her own might have broken the poor girl worse than anything else she'd endured, motherhood denied to her because of something she'd unknowingly done to herself all the way back in her first year at Hogwarts. Given what that had done to Leala and Shelbie's aunt when she'd been unable to produce any children for Uncle Thomas… well, to say Leala was horrified all over again would be an understatement.

"Oh, and don't stop reading now. The best part, I saved for last~"

As Shelbie drunkenly sings out that sentence, her smile widens far too much for Leala's liking. She pushes the entire bottle forward, causing Leala to scoff a little at the offer, even as she looks down at the final entry on the scroll.

Her eyes read it, and the glass she's been holding all this time final falls from nerveless fingers, magically enchanted not to break, it bounces and rolls across the floor.

"This is impossible."

Shelbie nods in confirmation.

"She should be dead!"

Her sister raises a glass in acknowledge of Leala's words.

"Where would she even encounter-?!"

Knuckles rap against the wood of the desk, as if to say, 'here here!' to Leala's complete bafflement.

"-And to think, she hates all of the stories about her, but she goes and pulls off something like this!"

Screaming in aggravation, Leala finally takes up Shelbie's offer and drinks straight from the bottle in front of her for several seconds before slamming it back down on the desk and gesturing incredulously to the scroll before her.

"How in the name of MAGIC does Hella Potter have Basilisk venom saturating the marrow of every single bone in her right arm?!"

-x-X-x-

Hella Potter stares in shock at the blonde, pale girl in her too tight bikini, leathery wings and spaded whip-like tail in full view. The girl in turn preens under Hella's gaze, seeming quite pleased to have interrupted the witch's time with Treowe. Meanwhile, a fleshy smack echoes beside her, and out of the corner of her eye Hella catches sight of a single hand slowly sliding down off of Treowe's face from the facepalm he just delivered unto himself.

Her body twitches, and her hand finds her lover's cock, taking hold of his sizable erection as she gives it a squeeze to return his focus onto her.

"Treowe…"

She begins as casually as she can, focusing on remaining calm until she had all the facts, despite what stood before her and the words already spoken. Pumping her hand up and down his cock and tapping her fingers across his dick, Hella purses her lips together.

"Who and what is this GIRL that is interrupting us, my love?"

She never fully takes her eyes off of the other girl, even as Treowe shifts slightly on the bed, releasing a shuddering breath under the ministrations of her hand, before taking a deep inhale. However, before he can speak…

"My name is Zari! I'm a succubus, obviously… and also Treowe's first! Everything you've ever done with him? He did it with me first! He claimed all three of my virginities before you even knew what you could do with yours!"

As she crows over her accomplishments, the blonde succubus crosses her arms under her breasts to push them up. Hella notes somewhat dryly that hers are still bigger without even trying. There are dual echoing smacks as Treowe uses both hands to facepalm.

"Magic damn it Zariiiii!"

Treowe starts to curse the succubus, only for the tone and tenor to shift into him loudly moaning her name. Hella whips her head around to look at him, missing the expression of shock on Zari's face. Meanwhile, his dick is swelling up in her hand even harder, and veins are pulsing with his pounding heartbeat. Rushing blood reddens his complexation as he lustfully pants, focusing on the blonde temptress

Looking back at the winged bitch, Hella frowns, reminded of Fleur Delacour, and what the French witch had done with her date for the Yule Ball. Glaring at those blonde locks and smooth creamy skin, she stops at the sight of that arrogant condescending smirk on Zari's face. She knew that look, knew that expression… she'd seen it far too many times over the last few years.

"You see! He prefers the vision of beauty that is my perfect body over your bloated fatass! But what can one expect when you go to a school named after a PIG!"

That was about it in terms of evidence. Shaking her head, Hella feels about as flabbergasted as she sounds as she stares at Zari in a new light.

"Is Malfoy aware that he has a magical creature for a sister?"

The succubus' confidence finally faltering at the strange question, even as Treowe's trance is broken by a laugh startled out in response to her jest. Hella finds herself smiling nastily. It really was a good comparison between the two of them-

"Hella, I ask that you not reveal this discovery to Lord or Heir Malfoy."

And then Treowe speaks in a more serious tone and both Hella and Zari are sputtering at the confirmation to the guessed identity of the succubus' father.

"Lord Malfoy would likely attempt to hunt her and her mother down to remove the perceived stain upon his honor if he became aware of her existence."

Hella blinks, taking this in, even as Zari gapes at Treowe in turn. Realizing what ammunition, she's just been given, it's Hella turn to adopt a wide grin as she looks at her would-be rival. Pushing herself off the bed, she doesn't fail to notice Zari's eyes tracking her movement, even as she steps up to the inhuman female carbon copy of her school days rival. They both end up squaring off against each other, even as Zari tries to adopt her earlier confidence once more.

"I-I'm still better looking, and I won't let you take my master from me, you hus-!"

She blustered and boasted just like a Malfoy too, at least right up until Hella's flesh shifted and began to move, causing the succubus to cut herself off and take a step back with widening eyes. Hella's faux pregnancy belly deflates, her breasts swelling while at the same time growing more perky as her nipples harden and enlarge. Her bum gains weight to enlarge the junk in her trunk, and her hips widen further still. Meanwhile, her raven-black hair writhes like a multi-tentacle creature as she advances on her rival.

Now that she'd had a moment to consider it, it was a bit funny… and ironic that her self-proclaimed rival both at school and now here in her love life, would turn out to be a Malfoy apiece. It was also going to be pretty therapeutic, Hella was sure. Years of repressed and restrained anger finally allowed to be unleashed on this succubus, who'd just made herself a stand-in for one of Hella's chief tormentors, who year after year got away with bulling her and her friends without reprimand or punishment.

Zari's back hits the wall behind her as the succubus runs out of space to retreat, and Hella acts quickly, her hands lashing out to grab the pale blonde's bra and panties, tugging them away from her with ease as she unravels the bows holding them onto her body. The succubus' panting breath hitches at their sudden removal, even as Hella tosses the garments behind her and steps forward one final time, pressing her much large breasts into the girl's noticeably smaller tits and pleasurably rubbing them together to show just how outclassed Zari was in challenging the Potter Heiress.

"I am going to enjoy this far more than I should."

Grabbing Zari by the back of the head, Hella forcibly brings the succubus in for a kiss. What she finds surprises her, warm and delicious strawberry tarts filling her taste buds, but Hella doesn't let that distract her, nor does she let her surprise show as she forces her tongue into Zari's mouth. Her own hair splits into twin tails that grab onto the succubus' encroaching hands before the blonde can put them where she wants them to go, stretching her arms out to the sides before pulling them up above the winged girl's head.

Their mounds rub against one another as well, before a smooth, creamy leg is lifted up to Hella's side, resting against her hip with the inside of it bumping against her butt. Hella's other arm slides along it, fingers stroking around to Zari's rear, which she wastes no time in groping.

Moans vibrate into Hella's mouth as the trapped succubus squirms. Their tongues lash against one another, but even here Hella has the advantage thanks to her shapeshifting capabilities. Her fingers move up to and slide into the succubus' slit, and as she pistons them in and out, Zari's moans become more and more needy until finally, the girl breaks and screams in ecstasy as Hella in turn breaks for air.

Hella's entire body is on fire, burning with the needy to taste more, touch more, feel more, and smell more of this girl. But not in the way Zari would have likely preferred. Hella isn't feeling particularly worshipful at this point. Instead, looming over her would-be rival imperiously, Hella looks down at the gasping, panting succubus and growls out one single word in a commanding tone.

"More."

-x-X-x-

The order echoes in Zari's mind, and she knows true terror, despite how horny she is, despite feeling surges of pleasure course through her body wherever her Mist- NO! No, no, no! That wasn't how this was supposed to go! That was exactly why Zari was terrified! She whimpers, even as her instincts urge her to submit to the witch before her, even as hungry, glowing, killing curse green eyes devour her form.

She couldn't look away from those shimmering green eyes, she couldn't possibly tear her gaze off of Hella Potter's magnificent face. Those eyes, sparking with raw magical power, remind Zari of her mother's lessons, of why they as succubi cling to a Master and M-m-mistress besides for just feedings, breeding, and shelter.

It was obvious at this point that she'd lost control of the situation… no, it was obvious that she'd never had it in the first place. Her opening volley of heavy Lust Magic had had her Master horny and focused entirely on her but had completely splashed off of the girl who was luring him away with no effect. This was undeniably frustrating. Zari was never to allow another woman that wasn't Mistress to be with Master. It was her most solemn duty as her Master's succubus!

That blast of Lust Magic should have reduced the whore playing with her Master's heart to a submissive slut that would have begged to have her body played with like an eager puppy ready to lick and serve for the smallest bit of attention! Instead… instead, Zari was the one in such a position, wasn't she?

She squeaks as a cum-soaked finger presses into her tight rosebud. Excess magic flows and surges into her body, and Zari lets out a ragged scream of pleasure as she cums again, only for it to be cut off by the tongue invading her mouth and her lips being sealed by a ravenous maw once more. This wasn't fair! Her opponent didn't fight fair! There hadn't been nearly enough verbal sniping at one another until one of them broke! Instead, Zari had been distracted with a comparison to one of Mistre- the trollop's classmates, only to have it revealed by Treowe that she was indeed related to a racist prick and his arrogant son!

She'd lost her concentration and been unable to keep up her Lust Aura as a result, only to suffer a worse blow to her ego when Hella Potter had revealed that she had a mastery of shapeshifting far more advanced than Zari. The succubus could barely maintain a human form as soon as her emotions started to run too high, meanwhile, Mistres- this bitch was able to completely outclass Zari in every way!

Hella Potter's flesh had all but flowed to enhance her figure in the scant few steps it'd taken her to cross the room and back Zari up against the wall. Even now those big, firm breasts were constantly reminding her of just how out of her league she suddenly was, the hardened nipples dragging across her body, while her own smaller tits were being smooshed backwards, her nipples inverting from the pressure.

Along with losing the battle between their bodies, she was also losing the one going on within her own mouth as M-m-m-miss Potter claimed every area she could reach, even elongating her tongue to claim more territory and quite literally tongue-fuck Zari's throat. It was both more pleasurable and more humiliating then practicing with her mother or her older cousins. At least then she was losing to another Succubus!

Nailed fingers come through Zari's hair and massage at her scalp, causing the succubus' eyes to nearly roll back in pleasure as she mews from the sensation. Her resistance is quickly eroding away, as evidenced by the way her dripping cunt was steadily soaking the floor with what sexual fluids didn't fall onto the hand and fingers pumping in and out of her.

With a full body shudder, Zari cums again as a forceful thrust plants Hella's digits deep inside of her velvety depths. Only kept up right by being sandwiched in between Hella's massive melons and the wall at her back, there was no denying that Zari was completely and utterly helpless right now, especially with her leg held up to better access her lower holes, until suddenly it wasn't allowing her to stand on her own.

Gasping for breath, Zari desperately tries to recover at least SOME of her equilibrium, even as her former captor releases her and steps back to admire her work. The succubus' body shivers as the last traces of lingering tough leave her, and she just barely manages to restrain herself from chasing after it. Instead, she rubs at her wrists where the silk strands of hair had held her fast.

"More."

The voice of her M-m-mistress fills her mind, even as Hella steps forward once more and fills her personal space. Hands placed on her shoulders gently push her downwards as Avada Kedavra green eyes stare into her own, daring her to resist. Slowly, Zari descends to her knees for the first time in her life to someone who isn't her Master or her Mama. But then, given what Hella WAS, it was still alright.

"Mistress…"

The word is uttered both as a benediction and as an acceptance of just who Hella had become. As she submits verbally, a crushing aura of magical power that had left her too afraid to do anything but obey finally lets up, instead wrapping around Zari in a way that leaves her warm and comforted, just like an embrace of her mother's wings.

Glancing down now that she's kneeling, Zari realizes she wasn't the only one who had been soaking the floor… but then, where was Master's cum from the fucking that he and Mistress had been engaged in before she'd so rudely interrupted to try to make her powerplay? Hands rest atop Zari's head, stroking and scratching and petting as a reward for her obedience. It felt incredibly nice, and it got even better as they pulled her forward, leading her to the pussy in front of her.

A few whiffs of Mistress' cunt, which was currently giving off a mixture of both her and Master's scent, have Zari hungrily salivating, her inhuman tongue tracing out of her mouth and lapping away to taste more of her Mistress and find the cream filling she knew had to be stored somewhere in her Mistress' depths.

Panting moans fill the air as Hella grinds the Succubus' face into her cunt, and Zari works harder and faster, her lapping tongue performing her duties. Her hands come up again to grab at Hella, but it's different this time because Hella is her Mistress and Zari knows where she stands now… or rather, where she kneels. Grabbing hold of her Mistress' abundant behind, Zari squeezes both cheeks in her grasp, pulling the witch closer so she could send her tongue further in, still seeking her creamy reward.

The succubus' wings arch around them both, even as hips gyrated against her face, and suddenly her Mistress shudders before letting out a cry of ecstasy and releasing a delicious mixture of both her own fluids and Zari's Master's for the Succubus to consume. As Zari desperately focuses on making sure that none of it goes to waste on the floor, her ears twitch when she hears a hungry rasp and a by-this-point very familiar command.

"More!"

Drunkenly giggling, Zari settles in to do whatever her Mistress needs of her. Her Mistress would get plenty more for a very long time indeed, as Zari never intended to leave either her Mistress or her Master's side, not ever.

-x-X-x-

He'd stayed on the bed, watching, as everything took place. Hella, with her enlarged curves swaying back and forth, had proven quite handily that she did NOT need his help in utterly and completely dominating Zari. So, Treowe had stayed perfectly still. As much for the show they'd put on, being his two favorite girls in the whole wide world, as well as not to draw Hella's attention away from Zari and onto him for even a moment.

His painfully hard erection had remained at attention the entire time, their moans, gasps, and screams of pleasure music to his hears as he pumped his hand up and down, keeping up with their tempo, but never quite letting himself cum. That would have been quite the waste in his opinion.

Once the Girl-Who-Lived had the succubus on her knees, willingly at that, Treowe was confident that both girls were distracted enough for him to get up off of his bed and raid his bedroom potion supplies. Quickly downing potion after potion, he revitalizes and strengthens his body for the trial to come. Then, he summons a House Elf and sends it off to Madame Valentina, knowing full well that once he started, he just wouldn't be able to stop.

The situation had gone from bad to great, good… and very bad. Great, because Hella's unexpected meeting with Zari hadn't resulted in them becoming cursed smears on the walls of his bedroom. More him than Zari, as the stupid bitch couldn't have remained unconscious for a few more hours to avoid provoking the Slayer of a fucking Dark Lord.

Good, because Zari and Hella were even getting along now… after Hella had used the weight of her magical aura to crush Zari's Lust Aura and make her take a more submissive role. Also gave him confirmation that it wasn't just him who found Hella's magical power to be utterly frightening in it's sheer size and intensity, when it was fully brought to bear.

And, of course, very bad because while Hella seemed to be resistant or even altogether immune to lust magic, Treowe knew that she had no protection against the exposure she was getting to Zari's aphrodisiac saliva as they kissed heatedly. And now that same saliva was being repeatedly lathered on and into her pussy, as evidenced by her increasingly powerful verbal commands of "More" that she kept demanding from the succubus girl.

On the last 'More', Treowe finally enters the fray, fully indulging his lover as his hooves clop across the floor. Hella's big butt was spread wide by Zari's wings at the moment, and underneath them her groping hands were certainly active. It made for a tempting and obvious target, but not yet. He had to exercise patience.

Instead, Treowe moves into position and stands beside them, his cock quickly grabbed and strokes by one of Hella's hands as the witch uses her other to keep Zari buried in her cunt. It made attaching the leashed collar around Zari's neck a little more difficult than needed, but Treowe got it done, nonetheless. Slipping the leash into Hella's hand, he leans in and kisses his love, swapping saliva with the raven-haired girl.

His already hot blood spikes higher as he exposes himself to the lingering aphrodisiac saliva coating Hella's tongue, and it prompts him to give one of her knockers a squeeze, and one of her bum cheeks a slap that has her releasing his dick as she jumps and 'eeps!'. Still his Hella then, good…

Moving behind her, Treowe reaches around and grabs Hella's jumbo jugs, listening to her tenor of moans while feeling up their weight and size. Opening up his fingers, he allows her hardened nipples to peek through before clamping his digits back together so he can pinch and pull on her teats. Hella arches her back as she cries out in pleasure, and instinctively pushes her bouncy butt against him.

Zari's wings release their hold on her ass, and the succubus' hands move to grasp Hella's hips instead. Treowe, taking the opening for what it is, slips his dick between Hella's legs and saws the length of his cock along her aphrodisiac-engorged nether lips, even as the coat of fur on his legs teases her derriere. Treowe grins wickedly as his dick goes past Hella's cunt and into Zari's open mouth, causing a muffled mumble of surprise that sounds like a whine at the same time.

But Zari doesn't whine for long, the head of his cock soon being eagerly sucked and lapped at by a skillful tongue. Hella, meanwhile, is clearly feeling left out as she attempts to push back against him and shift his cock upwards so that it will go into her. Not only does Treowe not allow this, he responds by pushing her forward to brace her against the wall over Zari's head, his own spaded tail swinging around to slap Hella's fat ass, alternating between cheeks as it wags from side to side in response to his pleasure.

Pushing his body forward causes his dick to go deeper into Zari's mouth and actually down the back of her throat, all while hot-dogging and splitting the engorged lips of Hella's needy cunt. Pulling back and then going forward again, he went about slathering his meaty shaft with the saliva of a Succubus, much to the succubus' enjoyment, and a certain witch's pleasured suffering.

Steadily, Treowe picks up his pace as he went, even as he dominates Hella, who had in turn dominated Zari. There's no denying who's truly in charge here, at the end of the day. Hella moans and her breasts shake as she gasps, panting with pleasure and inhaling sharply every time his tail strikes a butt cheek. Suddenly thrusting forward hard, Treowe shoves his cock down Zari's throat and presses Hella's curvy body into his own as he cums hard.

Zari's lips, mouth, tongue, and throat milk the torrent of his release, even as Hella struggles in his tight hold, jiggling and shaking her enlarged assets against his muscular body, further teasing her own sensitive form into cumming all over the rod currently hot between her thighs.

As the last ropes of cum finish firing, Treowe pulls his dick out of Zari's mouth and teases Hella's nether lips with his cockhead. She partially turns her head to look at him, and Treowe gets a taste of what Zari has been experiencing as he looks into Hella's glowing green eyes.

"MOR-mmph!"

Unlike Zari, however, Treowe KNOWS Hella Potter. He knows the witch inside and out, and he knows how to bring her to heel. In the end, he cuts her off with his lips, which cover her own as his tongue pushes into her mouth at the same time that his cock spears into her womb. The glow of Hella's green eyes promptly goes out as they roll all the way back in her head, and she climaxes explosively around Treowe's cock, even as he begins to fuck her nice and hard.

Eventually, Treowe has Zari help him carry Hella, sandwiched between them and impaled on his dick, backwards until he's sitting on the edge of his bed once more. Zari in turn sucks on Hella's nipples as they go, lacing them with more aphrodisiac saliva. Leaning back, Treowe grabs Hella by her ankles and raises her legs up to give their succubus pet straight access to her new Mistress' cunt, even as he bounces his lover up and down on his dick.

As soon as Zari is kneeling in between his legs and using her mouth to service them, Treowe lays Hella's legs over her shoulders, allowing the witch to pull the succubus forward and trap her head in between deliciously thicc thighs.

Hella, of course, reaches back and grasps his horns again for support, even as his hands in turn grab onto her sensitive titties as they truly get into the swing of things. He fucks her like there's no tomorrow, and Hella clenches and squeezes down on his cock in blissful ecstasy all the way through. Meanwhile, Zari runs her tongue from his balls, up his shaft, to Hella's pussy, and then back down again, playing the good little succubus slut that she's supposed to be, servicing her Master and Mistress quite happily.

But then of course she's happy to do it… she knows as well as Treowe does what sort of affect her saliva is having on the two of them, and now that Treowe has taken Hella in hand, Zari isn't quite so afraid of the immensely powerful witch anymore. Oh sure, she's still her Mistress… in the same way Treowe is Zari's Master. And Zari has always been an impish, disrespectful little thing to her Master.

Needless to say, things only escalate from there. Treowe eventually cums inside of Hella, spreading her legs out wide so that he can fully bury his cock inside of her womb and unload right there. Zari, meanwhile, jumps up and begins to play with her Mistress' breasts while furiously kissing her. This in turn causes Hella to wrap her arms around the succubus and pull her in closer, the two of them making out.

Treowe soon found himself out from under them both, with Hella pinning Zari to the bed and kissing her as ferociously as Zari was kissing her Mistress. With such a gorgeous feminine sandwich staring him right in the eye, Treowe couldn't very well resist. So, he set about fucking his lover and his succubus pet both, plowing them both silly, Hella from behind, and Zari underneath her, alternating between the two of them.

The Heir of House Morton isn't quite sure how long this goes on for. Only that it ends due to his quick thinking before it began. The door to the room is suddenly thrown open, and Madame Valentina enters. By that point, Treowe is on his back with Hella cuddled into his side, and the two of them are watching as Zari bounces up and down on her Master's cock at her Mistress' urging.

In an instant, Valentina has pulled Zari away and rapidly struck at a set of five pressure points that send the younger succubus into Nirvana-levels of pleasure, making her literally cum her brains out before she passes out on the floor. As Hella rises from the bed, expression storming and green eyes flashing, her stance making it clear she was ready to put another succubus bitch in her place, Valentina does the same with her, hitting the pressure points before Hella can properly bring that potent magic aura of hers to bear.

And then finally, there's Treowe. He did call for the older Succubus MILF… but he's still so horny, still so hungry. As he sits up on the bed, his cock engorged and still ready to go another ten rounds easily, he looks between Valentina and the unconscious girls at her feet. Should he fuck her… or one of them?

Before Treowe can make a decision, Valentina rolls her eyes at him.

"You were smart to call for me, young Heir. Now sleep."

Her final word has a magic to it that Treowe can't resist, as slumber overtakes him, and he's knocked unconscious by the overpowered sleep spell upside the head. But then, that was for the best, because without her interference, they would have kept going forever.

 **-x-X-x-**

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